»^^f' 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^'^^cou^cnoN 


A  FOOL'S  ERRAND, 

By  One  of  the  Fools. 


The  reception  accorded  to  this  anonymous  book,  both  by  press  and 
public,  has  been  so  unusual,  and  the  impression  made  by  the  work 
has  been  so  marked,  that  these  facts  are  worth  recording.  The  press 
reviews,  both  by  tlieir  careful  preparation  and  their  length,— many 
running  to  one,  two,  and  even  four  columns  in  daily  papers,  which 
are  always  crowded  for  space,  —  have  evinced  a  sense  of  the  peculiar 
interest  and  importance  of  the  book.  There  is  space  here  for  but  brief 
extracts  from  a  few  of  them. 

Fords,  Howard,  &  Hulbert,  New  York. 


EXTRACTS   FROM  SOME  PRESS   NOTICES. 


A  Hemarkable  Book. 

"  A  striking  book."  —Utica  (i\r.  Y.) 
Herald. 

"  A  tale  of  life  at  the  South  since 
the  late  war,  full  of  the  racy  huraor  of 
the  country-people,  the  rich  and  laughter- 


to  he  well  informed."  —  Porfiand  (.Me.) 
Advertiser. 

"  The  elements  of  deep  romance 
are  here  curiously  hlended  with  an  in- 
tensely realistic  view  of  social  life  in  the 
South  since  the  close  of  the  war  and  dur- 
ing the  process  of  reconstruction.  It  is  a 
work  to  be  read  with  profound  interest 


provoking  characteristics  of  negro   fun,     worK  lo  oe  reau  wiiu  pruiuuuu   luit^.c^u 
End  the  pathos  of  negro  prayer-meetings,    for  its  luminous  exposition  of  historical 


the  dashing  excitement  of  the  hunt,  the 
oddities  of  up-country  mass-meetings,  the 
social  lines  of  caste,  the  hot  passions  of 
politics,  the  dark  and  bloody  doings  of  an 
enraged  people,  and  their  startling  logic 
of  self-justification.  ...  It  is  full  of  sun- 
shine as  well  as  shadow;  and  interwoven 
in  the  narrative  is  the  old  yet  ever  new 
romance  of  youth  and  love."  —  Indianap- 
olis Journal. 

"  A  very  remarkable  book."  — 
Springfield  {Mass.)  Republican. 

"  An  awakening  book,  a  thrilling 
book,  indeed.  ...  So  powerful  and  so 
real  a  book  about  the  South  has  not  been 
written  before.  .  .  .  The  style  is  clear  and 
lively,  even  brilliant;  but  the  only  merit 
the  modest  author  claims  is  that  of  abso- 
lute truthfulness.  .  .  .  There  is  romance 
in  the  book  to  enchain  the  attention.  The 
characters  are  depicted  with  rare  skill." 
—  Cintinnati  Commercial. 

"  Fairly  hrhtJes  with  *  points  ' 
both  of  tragedy  and  comedy."  —  Ban- 
bury Neios. 

"  If  this  is  a  first  effort,  a  new 
name  in  fiction  has  been  created  by  a 
single  book,  for  the  author  must  soon 
become  known.  .  .  .  The  book  will  rank 
among  tine  famous  novels  which  represent 
certain  epochs  of  history  so  faithfully 
and  accurately,  that,  once  written,  they 
must  he  read'by  everybody  who  desires 


facts,  as  well  as  to  be  admired  for  its 
masterly  power  of  picturesque  and  pa- 
thetic description."  —  New- York  Tribune. 

"  One  of  the  most  noteworthy 
publications  of  the  American  press  dur- 
ing the  present  year.  .  .  .  Whether  re- 
garded as  a  philosophical  analysis  of  po- 
litical problems  since  the  war",  or  purely 
as  a  romance,  the  book  is  an  extraordi- 
nary one."  —  jBoston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable 
novel  which  the  present  decade  has 
brought  iorih."  —  Syracuse  {N.Y.)  Herald. 

"A  real  stir  in  the  world  of  let- 
ters has  been  made  by '  A  Fool's  Errand.' 
.  .  .  With  a  hand  as  steady  as  a  sur- 
geon's, almost  with  a  cynic's  smile,  the 
author  holds  up  to  view  a  state  of  society 
which  is  known  to  us  of  the  North  only 
by  distorted  and  frequently  distrusted  re- 
ports. .  .  .  Yet  his  friendliness  to  the 
Southern  people,  his  familiarity  with  their 
opinions  and  .manners,  and  his  freedom 
from  political  rancor,  stamp  his  work 
with  the  proofs  of  truth.  .  .  .  Thinking 
men  will  want  to  read  it."  —  Buffalo 
(iV.  Y.)  Ketcs. 

"  The  story  throughout  exhibits 
a  naturalness,  a  composure,  a  reality,  a 
self-restraint,  which  belong  to  the  best 
class  of  literary  work  .  .  .  and  the  more 
thrilling  passages  of  the  book  are  written 
with  calmness  as  well  as  strength."  — 
Boston  Literary  World. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 


A  Brilliant  Moinance, 

"  The  sated  novel-reader  will  find 
it  fresh  and  thrilling."  —  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser. 

"  The  story  is  brilliant  and  fasci- 
nating,—  evidently  a  leaf  from  experi- 
ence." —  Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"  A  Iwe  novel,  pertinent  to  the 
day.  The  author  hides  himself  under  the 
no77i  de  plume  of  '  One  of  the  Fools ; '  but 
if  the  family  was  larger,  and  more  of  them 
given  to  this  style  of  writing,  the  reading 
Iworld  would  be  delighted.  ...  It  is  bril- 
liant in  conception  and  execution,  and 
sparkles  like  champagne.  There  is  fun 
epicing  its  pages ;  there  is  pathos  to  dis- 
turb the  eye-fountains;  there  is  tragedy 
to  thrill,  and  comedy. to  evoke  mirth  and 
laughter.  Read  'A  Fool's  Errand;'  for 
the  reading  will  carry  its  own  reward." 
—  Providence  Press. 

"  Drawn  with  a  touch  as  humor- 
ous and  pathetic  as  that  of  Dickens,  and 
a  relentless  satire  as  keen  as  Thack- 
eray's."—  Salem  {Mass.)  Gazette. 

"  So  individualistic,  so  thought- 
ful, so  vivid  and  intense,  that  it  will  com- 
mand a  wide  audience.  ...  It  is  as  full 
of  interest  as  one  of  Charles  Reade's 
mysterious  romances.  We  took  it  up  the 
other  evening  somewhat  '  latish,'  and 
could  not  put  it  down  until  after  turning 
the  last  leaf.  It  has  pith,  pathos,  power, 
argument,  illustration,  and  proof."  — 
Rochester  {N.  Y.)  Rural  Home. 

"  Represents  in  very  vigorous 
and  vivacious  style  a  life  of  thrilling  ad- 
ventures and  narrow  escapes."  —  2s'ew 
Jerusalem  Messenger. 

"Abounds  in  sketches  not  to  be 
matched  in  the  whole  range  of  modern 
,  fiction.  The  author's  keen  insight  into 
character  gives  him  a  power  which  never 
relaxes  to  the  end;  while  his  skill  in  dia- 
logue and  humorous  touches  add  greatly 
to  the  charm  of  the  story."  —  Boston 
Traveller. 

"  A  narration  rarely  equaled  in 
its  tragic  interest."  —  Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"Certainly,  for  vivid  word-paint- 
ing, and  for  the  intense  dramatic  eftcct 
of  its  incidents,  as  well  as  for  the  impor- 
tance of  the  subject  it  deals  with,  it  is 
a  remarkable  production."  —  New- York 
Daily  Graphic. 

"The  story  will  be  read  with 
breathless  interest."  —  Hartford  {Conn.) 
Courant. 


The  Neiv  ^^  Uncle  Tom,'' 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  '  A 
Fool's  Errand'  will  take  a  high  lank  in 
fiction,  —  a  rank  like  that  of  '  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin.'"  —  Boston  Traveller. 

"  It  is  a  powerfully  written  work, 
and  destined,  we  fear'  to  do  as  much 
harm  in  the  world  as  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cab- 
in,' to  which  it  is,  indeed,  a  companion 
piece."  —  Raleigh  {N.C)  Observer. 

"  Ought  to  be  as  serviceable  in 
enUghteningthe  North  about  the  startling 
events  of  the  reconstruction  period,  as 
'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  was  in  illustrating 
the  phases  of  an  earlier  epoch."  —  Chris- 
tian Union. 

"The  success  of  books  depends 
on  the  timeliness  of  their  appearance, 
as  much  as  on  their  intrinsic  excellence. 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  '  undoubtedly  had  a 
wider  sale  than  it  could  have  attained 
five  years  earlier.  .  .  .  We  shall  not  be 
surprised  to  find  the  work  before  us  at- 
taining a  very  extensive  circulation.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  it  is  not  in  the 
main  the  record  of  an  actual  experience. 
It  is  more  than  truthful,  however,  for  it 
is  written  with  much  more  than  ordinary 
power." —  Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"  Destined  to  create  a  furore  in 
literary,  political,  and  social  circles,  sec- 
ond only  to  that  produced  by  '  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  '  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago." 
■^  St.  Paul  {Minn.)  Despatch. 

"  It  was  a  novel  which  first 
aroused  us  from  our  lethargy  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  growing  magnitude  of  the 
evils  of  slavery,  and  it  is  anovel  now  which 
calls  attention  in  a  clarion  voice  to  the  dan- 
gers which  yet  threaten  a  nation  divided 
against  itself.  If  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin' 
was  an  electric  light,  revealing  in  one  flash 
the  cursed  system  of  chattelism,  this  more 
recent  account  of  '  A  Fool's  Errand  '  is  a 
sledge-hammer."  —  N.  Y.  Daily  Graphic. 

"  One  of  the  personages  figuring 
.  .  .  is  Uncle  Jerry,  —  a  remarkable  old  ne- 
gro, worthy  of  a  place  beside  Mrs.  Stowe'B 
•  Uncle  Tom.'  "—Literary  World  {Boston.) 

"There  is  one  character  — Jerry 
Hunt  — that  often  reminds  the  reader  of 
the  Uncle  Tom  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  memora- 
ble ante-war  story ;  and  passages  of  almost 
equal  pathos  and  power  to  that  wonder- 
ful volume  are  found  in  the  pages  of  this 
interesting  work.  It  may  be  that  this 
will  hold  the  same  relation  to  a  great 
social  and  moral  revolution  that  must 
ultimately  occur,  that  the  former  did  to 
the  civil  war.  ...  A  wholesome    tract 


A    FOOrS  ERILiXD. 


for  the  times,  to  be  read  both  North  and 
South."  —Zion's  Herald,  Boston. 

"  In  point  of  vivid  scene-paint- 
ing, subtle  intuitions  of  character,  and 
colloquial  raciness  and  humor,  many  of  the 
sketches  in  this  volume  may  well  challenge 
comparison  with  the  most  eti'ective  pas- 
sages in  our  lictitious  literature,  not  ex- 
cepting the  wonderful  pictures  of  actual 
life  in  *  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  "  —  iV.  Y. 
Tribune. 

"  It  would,  perhaps,  seem  like 
hyperbole  to  say  that  this  work  is  wor- 
thy to  stand  by  the  side  of  '  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  as  a  vivid  and  realistic  exposition 
of  a  peculiar  phase  of  American  history; 
but  that  is  our  feeling  after  a  thoughtful 
perusal  of  it."  —  Boaton  Daily  Advertiser. 


Itnpartial  aiifl  Truthful, 

"  Alike  adrairahle,  whether  it  is 
to  be  regarded  as  history  or  romance. 
Its  value  as  history  is  heightened  by  the 
author's  impartiality  of  view,  the  cairc;- 
ness  and  preci^iion  of  his  statements,  the 
keenness  of  his  sarcasm,  and  the  force  of 
his  logic." —  Christian  Union. 

"  The  half-fictitious  narrative  of 
this  book  is  clothed  in  words  of  soberness 
and  truth.  Indeed,  the  whole  endeavor 
of  the  author  seems  to  have  been  to  ex-  j 
tenuate  nothing,  nor  set  down  aught  in  , 
malice.  We  have  not  anywhere  seen  an 
account  of  the  troubles  that  beset  a 
Northern  family's  residence  in  the  South 
which  impressed  us  as  being  more  truth- 
ful, more  complete,  or  more  powerfully 
■written,  than  this." —  Chicago  Tribune. 

*'  His  trenchant  sword  cuts  two 
ways.  He  strikes  right  and  left  without 
fear  or  favor.  He  does  not  spare  the 
follies  of  his  friends,  nor  fail  to  respect 
the  honest  prejudices  of  his  foes."  —  £rie 
(iV^.  Y.)  Despatch. 

"  The  story  is  so  clearly  told, 
with  an  attempt  at  detail  which  the  author 
could  not  repress,  that  there  can  not  be  a 
particle  of  doubt  the  facts  were  furnished 
oy  experience,  —  an  experience  dearly 
boughl."  —Rochester  i^.Y.)  Herald. 

"  There  are  chapters  here,  which, 
for  picturesqueness  and  power,  are  rarely 
equaled;  and  yet  the  tale  is  told  with 
such  absence  of  heat  and  passion  in  the 
writer,  that  were  there  no  assurance  of 
the  fidelity  of  the  story  in  these  parts  to 
the  author's  own  observation  and  experi- 
ence, nor  any  volumes  of  indisputable 
confirmation  in  the  reports  of  congreg- 
Bional  cummittees,  it  would  carry  convic- 


tion of  its  truth  on   its  face."  — ^osion 
Daily  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  well  written,  interesting^, 
and  demonstrates  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  revolutionizing  the  politics  and  society 
of  the  bouth.  It  is  a  radical  work;  but 
old  Confederate  Democrats  can  chuckle 
over  many  of  its  pages."  —  Okolona 
(J/i«.s.)  Soutliei-n  StaUs. 

"  Considered  as  a  frank  and  can- 
did picture  of  the  difficulties  encountered 
by  Northern  emigrants  to  tho  South  dur- 
ing the  time  of  reconstruction,  by  a  writer 
who  honestly  sets  down  what  he  believes 
to  be  the  truth,  and  who  appears  to  be 
sincerelj-  disposed  to  do  strict  justice  to 
all  men,  the  book  will  interest  a  large 
circle  of  readers."  —  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"■  The  roan  paints  the  South  as  it 
is,  and  knows  how  to  paint  both  land  and 
people,  '  with  malice  toward  none,  with 
charity  to  a\l."'—I)cr  Deutsche  Carre- 
spondent,  Baltimore. 

"  With  personal  knowledge  of 
the  evil  and  the  good  of  both  North  and 
South,  the  author  teaches  each  side  much 
of  the  other's  way  of  looking  at  things." 
—  New  Haven  Journal  and  Courier. 

"  The  author  possesses  the  ahility 
to  put  himself  in  the  place  of  the  char- 
acters representing  the  opposing  factions, 
and  from  the  stand-point  of  each,  holding 
the  other  to  account  for  the  wrong  ad- 
mitted by  both  to  have  been  done.  .  .  . 
A  book  that  must  be  productive  of  last- 
ing good."  —  Philadelphia  Times. 

"It  is  a  peculiar  work,  and  will 
undoubtedly  stir  up  a  variety  of  opinions. 
It  will  astonish  readers,  of  whatever  po- 
litical faith;  for  it  portrays  with  great 
power  that  which  the  author  claims  is 
unknown  to  the  mass  of  intelligent  people 
in  either  section  of  the  land,  —  namely, 
the  South  as  it  is."  —  Rochester  {N.Y.) 
Express. 

"  All  classes,  from  the  highest  tr 
the  lowest,  figure  in  it,  and  the  author',- 
feelings  are  evidently  those  of  kindness 
and  good-will."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  What  is  most  remarkable  about 
the  book  is  the  spirit  of  fairness  that 
pervades  it."  — Philadelphia  Tim,€S. 

"  Its  word-pictures  are  so  realis- 
tic that  one  sees,  hears,  and  feels  the  very 
presence  of  the  individuals  that  crowd  its 
pages.  The  night-ride  of  young  Lily  Ser- 
vopse  ...  is  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
thrilling  incidents  that  has  e-vcr  been 
told  in  history  or  romance." — San  Fran- 
cisco Chronicle, 


PRESS  NOTICES. 


"All  agree  that  it  is  by  some 
writer  of  exceptional  opportunities  of  ob- 
servation, superior  intelligence,  marked 
impartiality,  decided  ability,  and  mas- 
terly power  of  picturesque,  humorous, 
and  pathetic  description."—  Yazoo  iJIi-ss.) 
Rerald.  

Wise,  Strong 9  Statesman- 
like, 

""Worthy  just  now  of  national 
consideration."  —  Hartford  Courant. 

"  The  Statesman  may  gather  les- 
sons of  wisdom  from  its  pages.  It  will 
be  read  at  the  North  with  equal  interest, 
and  will  contribute,  more  than  any  single 
book  written  since  Mrs.  Stowe's  world- 
famous  novel,  to  a  just  understanding  by 
each  section  of  the  deep  springs  of  senti- 
ment and  conduct  in  the  other." —  Boston 
Daily  Advertiser. 

"  A  very  conservative  hut  cor- 
rect glance  at  the  South  as  it  is.  It  is 
from  the  pen  of  an  oflBcer  in  the  Federal 
army  through  the  late  war,  who  became 
a  bona  fide  settler  of  the  South  subse- 
quentlj-,  with  wife,  family,  and  fortune, 
a  keen  observer,  an  intelligent  thinker 
and  reasoner.  The  native  Southron,  the 
'poor  white,'  the  carpet-bagger,  the  old 
Unioner,  the  freedman,  the  Ku-Klux,  and 
the  social,  moral,  and  political  life  of  the 
South,  are  all  handled  with  uncommon 
power  and  humor,  coupled  with  a  relent- 
less satire."  —  Washington  {D.  C.)  l^a- 
tional  Rep^iblican. 

*'  How  this  Fool  swings  the  lash 
of  scorn  about  the  backs  of  those  who 
called  themselves  the  Wise  Men  of  the 
nation  then!  [during  the  period  of  Re- 
construction] .  .  .  Now  the  writer  draws 
lines  of  pathos  and  delicate  humor  as 
finely  as  though  a  woman  held  the  pen, 
then  flashes  out  a  bolt  of  vigorous 
thought,  far-reaching,  astute,  philosophi- 
cal, caustic,  wilty,  satirical,  —  yes,  states- 
manlike, in  its  proportions,  which  stamps 
the  work  as  a  man's  doings.  Withal,  no 
crude  experimenter  in  composition  is  the 
Fool,  but  a  wise  man  or  woman,  which- 
ever it  may  be.  If  this  book  does  not 
meet  with  a  marvelous  reception,  and 
awaken  profoundest  comment  North  and 
South,  then  we  will  confess  a  total  inca- 
pability to  judge  of  what  can  play  upon 
that  most  incomprehensible  pipe,  the 
Public." — Jackson  (Mich.)  Citizen. 

"If  the  record  be  a  record  of 
folly,  it  is  keenly,  intelligently  made.  It 
is  written  in  brains." — Rochester  (iV.  F.) 
Rural  Home. 


"  If  every  representative  and 
senator  in  Congress,  if  the  governors  and 
state  oflicers  of  every  Statein  the  Union, 
could  read  this  volume,  and  become  pene- 
trated with  the  force  of  the  facts  and  rea. 
sonings  which  are  detailed  therein,  wo 
have  no  doubt  that  the  spirit  of  the  ele- 
ments that  make  up  the  South  would  be 
better  comprehended,  and  we  should  be 
nearer  a  solution  of  the  problem  of  re- 
construction."—  Troy  (K.  Y.)  Whig. 

"  If  this  hook  don't  move  men, 
and  start  the  patriotic  blood  of  the  nation 
into  warmer  flow,  then  we  have  mistaken 
the  American  people." — Chicago  Jnter- 
Ocean.  ^ 

The  Author, 

"  The  newspapers  are  trving  their 
wits  at  tracking  the  author.  One  reason- 
able guess  is,  that  the  writer  is  Edmund 
Kirke,  well  known  for  his  picture  of  the 
South  in  "  Among  the  Pines."  But  since 
the  book  has  been  compared,  and  properly 
so,  to  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  why  not  make 
the  parallel  complete  by  attributing  it  to 
the  same  author  'i  "  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  "Who  the  author  is  we  do  not 
know;  but  his  publishers  accredit  him  as 
a  person  who  has  occupied  places  of  trust 
and  prominence,  both  politically  and  pro- 
fessionally, in  the  South.  It  is  evident 
that  he  possesses  in  an  uncommon  degree 
the  traits  of  a  strong  and  accomplished 
writer,  and  the  power  of  constructing 
and  narrating  a  story  which  is  at  once 
intensely  interesting  and  profoundly 
thoughtful.  He  has  the  faculty  of  dis- 
cerning the  romantic  aspects  of  the  life  and 
scenesabout  him, and  also  a  philosophical 
calmness  that  enables  him  to  probe  the  ap- 
pearances, and  discover  their  motives  and 
meanings."  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"A  number  of  newspapers  are 
attempting  to  trace  the  identity  of  the 
author  of  this  remarkable  book.  .  .  . 
Still  other  guessers  think  it  comes  from 
some  one  of  the  near  connections,  in 
Mississippi,  of  a  notable  New-England- 
er." —  Yazoo  City  {Miss.)  Herald. 

"The  story  throughout  is  intense- 
ly interesting  and  profoundly  thoughtful. 
In  point  of  originality  it  will  rank  with  the 
best  productions  of  American  writers  of 
fiction;  and  it  may  be  well  to  inquire,  iu 
view  of  the  power  here  displayed,  whether 
the  long-looked-for  native  American  nove- 
list who  is  to  rival  Dickens,  and  equal 
Thackeray,  and  yet  imitate  neither,  has  not 
been  found.  A  romancist,  sage,  publicist, 
politician,  and  philosopher  in  one,  is  a  raro 
combination." —  Concord  {X.H.)Monitor 


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FOOL'S     ERRAND 


BY 


ONE   OF  THE  FOOLS. 


Varr.  Serv.     Thou  art  not  altogether  a  fool. 
Fool.     Nor  thou  altogether  a  wise  man :  as  much  foolery 
As  I  have,  so  much  wit  thou  lackest. 

Timon  of  Athens. 


NEW  YORK: 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT. 

1880. 


Copyright,  A.D.  1879, 
By  fords,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT. 


FRANKLm  press: 

ELECTROTYPED   AKD   PRINTED   BY   RAND,  AVERV,  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON. 


TO   THE 
ANCIEXT  AND  HONORABLE   FAMILY  OF 

JFools 

THIS  BOOK  IS  RESPECTFULLY  AND  LOVINGLY 

DEDICATED 
BY  ONE  OF  THEIR  NUMBER. 


603275 


LETTER  TO   THE   PUBLISHERS. 


Gentlemex,  —  Your  demand  that  I  should  write  a  *•  Preface  " 
to  the  book  you  have  printed  seems  to  me  utterly  preposterous. 
It  is  like  a  man  introducing  himself,  —  always  an  awkward, 
and  generally  a  useless  piece  of  business.  What  is  the  use  of 
the  "prologue  to  the  epic  coming  on,"  anyhow,  unless  it  be  a 
sort  of  advertisement?  and  in  that  case  you  ought  to  write  it. 
Whoever  does  that  should  be 

"  Wise  enough  to  play  the  fool; 
And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  sort  of  wit." 

That  is  not  the  kind  of  Fool  I  am.  All  such  work  I  delegate 
to  you,  and  hereby  authorize  and  empower  you  to  say  what  you 
please  of  what  I  have  written,  only  begging  you  keep  in  mind 
one  clear  distinction.  There  are  two  kinds  of  Fools.  The  real 
Fool  is  the  most  sincere  of  mortals :  the  Court  Fool  and  his 
kind  —  the  trifling,  jesting  buffoon  —  but  simulate  the  family 
virtue,  and  steal  the  family  name,  for  sordid  purposes. 

The  life  of  the  Fool  proper  is  full  of  the  poetry  of  faith. 
He  may  run  after  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  while  the  Wise  deride ; 
but  to  him  it  is  a  veritable  star  of  hope.  He  differs  from 
his  fellow-mortals  chiefly  in  this,  that  he  sees  or  believes 
what  they  do  not,  and  consequently  undertakes  what  they 
never  attempt.  If  he  succeed  in  his  endeavor,  the  world 
stops  laughing,  and  calls  him  a  Genius :  if  he  fail,  it  laughs 
the  more,  and  derides  his  undertaking  as  A  Fool's  Errand. 

So  the  same  individual  is  often  both  fool  and  genius,  —  a 
fool  all  his  life  and  a  genius  after  his  death,  or  a  fool  to  one 
century  and  a  genius  to  the  next,  or  a  fool  at  home  and  a 
prodigy  abroad.  Watt  was  a  fool  while  he  watched  the  tea- 
kettle, but  a  genius  when  he  had  caught  the  imp  that  tilted 


4  LETTER    TO    THE  PUBLISHERS. 

the  lid.  The  gentle  Genoese  who  wrested  half  the  world 
from  darkness  was  a  fool  to  the  age  which  sought  for  the 
Fountain  of  Youth;  yet  every  succeeding  one  but  multiplies 
his  praises.  These  are  but  types.  The  poet  has  incorporated 
the  recognized  principle  in  the  lines,  — 

"  Great  wits  to  madness,  sure,  are  near  allied, 
And  thin  partitions  do  their  walls  di\-ide." 

It  is,  however,  only  in  the  element  of  simple,  undoubting 
faitJi,  that  the  kinship  of  genius  and  folly  consists.  One  may 
be  an  unquestioned  Fool  without  any  chance  of  being  taken 
for  a  Seer.  This  is,  indeed,  the  case  with  most  of  the  tribe. 
It  is  success  alone  that  transforms  the  credulity  of  folly  into 
acknowledged  prophetic  prevision. 

Noah  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  Fools  thus  vindicated. 
The  "Wise  Men  of  his  day  sat  around  on  the  dry-goods  boxes, 
and  whittled  and  whistled,  and  quizzed  the  queer  craft  on 
which  he  kept  his  sons  and  sons-in-law  at  work,  till  the  keel 
was  as  old  as  thQ  frigate  "  Constitution  "  before  he  was  ready 
to  lay  her  upper  decks.  If  the  rain  had  not  come  at  last, 
they  would  never  have  got  over  laughing  at  his  folly.  The 
Deluge  saved  his  reputation,  and  made  his  Ark  a  success. 
But  it  is  not  often  that  a  Fool  has  a  heavenly  voice  to  guide 
him,  or  a  flood  to  help  him  out. 

This  little  tale  is  the  narrative  of  one  of  Folly's  failures. 
The  hero  can  lay  no  claim  to  greatness.  A  believing  Noah 
there  is  in  it,  a  well-built  ark,  and  an  indubitable  flood. 
But  the  waters  prevailed,  and  the  Fool  went  down,  and 
many  of  the  family  with  him.  The  "Wise  Men  looked  on 
and  laughed. 

The  one  merit  which  the  story  claims  is  that  of  honest, 
uncompromising  truthfulness  of  portraiture.  Its  pictures  are 
from  life.  And  even  in  this  which  he  boasts  as  a  virtue  may 
be  found,  perhaps,  the  greatest  folly  yet  committed  by 

One  of  the  Fools. 

September,  1879. 


OOI^TTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGB. 

I.    The  Genesis  of  Folly 7 

II.      Le   PKE3IIER  ACCis 10 

III.  Sorrow  cometh  with  Knowledge      ....      13 

IV.  From  Bad  to  Worse 17 

V.    The  Oracle  is  consulted 21 

YI.  All  lost  but  Honor .23 

VII.  An  Old  "Unioner" 26 

VIII.  "Their  Exits  ant)  their  Entrances'*      ...  33 

rX.  The  New  Kingdou 37 

X.  Poor  Tray 42 

XI.  A  Cat  in  a  Strange  Garret 48 

XII.  Compelled  to  volunteer 54 

XIII.  A  Two-handed  Game 57 

XIV.  Murder  most  Foul 65 

XV.  "Who  is  my  Neighbor?" 70 

XVI.  The  Edge  of  Hospitality  dulled      ....  82 

XVII.  The  Second  Mile  Post 85 

XVIII.  Congratulation  and  Condolence       ....  90 

XIX.  Citizens  in  E:mbryo 98 

XX.  Out  of  Due  Season 112 

XXI.  How  the  Wise  Men  builded II9 

XXII.  Cock-Crow 229 

XXIII.  The  Die  is  cast 13^ 

XXIV.  "  AVisDOM  crieth  in  the  Streets  "      .        .        ,        .142 

6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXV.  A  Grfmbler's  Forecast 150 

XXVI.  Balak  and  Balaam 154 

XXVII.  A  New  I>-stitution 162 

XXVIII.  A  Bundle  of  Dry  Sticks 172 

XXIX.  FooTiNCx  UP  THE  Ledger 176 

XXX.  A  Thrice-told  T-ajle .184 

XXXI.  The  Folly  of  Wisdom 201 

XXXII.  "  Out  of  the  Abundance  of  the  Heart"        .  208 

XXXIII.  "  LOYE  ME,   LOYE  MY  DOG  " 216 

XXXIV.  The  Haryest  of  Wisdom 224 

XXXV.  An  Awakening 232 

XXXVI.  A  Race  against  Tdie 246 

XXXVII.  The  "  Reb  "  View  of  it 256 

XXXVIII.  "  Ant)  all  the  World  was  in  a  Sea"       .        .  270 

XXXIX.  "  Light  shineth  in  Darkness  '*     .       .       .       .285 

XL.  Pro  Bono  Publico 292 

XLI.  "  Peace  in  Warsaw  " 299 

XLII.  A  Friendly  Mediation 308 

XLIII.  Uncont)itional  Surrender 314 

XLIV.  Pride  oa'ermatching  Pride 326 

XLV.  Wisdom  and  Folly  bieet  together     .       .       .  335 

XLVI.  Ho3iE  AT  last 348 

XLVII.  MoNuaiENTUM 360 


A  FOOL'S   ERRAND, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   GENESIS    OF    FOLLY. 


The  Fool's  patronymic  was  Servosse;  his  Christian  name, 
Comfort.  His  father  was  descended  from  one  of  those  Gallic 
families  who  abandoned  the  luxuries  of  la  belle  France  for  ari 
Arcadia  which  in  these  later  days  has  become  synonymous 
with  bleakness,  if  not  sterility.  It  is  supposable  that  his  an- 
cestors, before  they  adventured  on  the  delights  of  Canadian 
winters  in  exchange  for  the  coast  of  Normandy  or  the  plains 
of  Bordeaux,  may  have  belonged  to  some  noble  family,  who 
drew  their  blood,  clear  and  blue,  from  the  veins  of  a  Martelian 
progenitor. 

It  is,  perhaps,  but  fair  to  presume  that  the  exchange  of  skies 
was  made  only  for  the  glory  of  our  gallant  and  good  King 
Louis,  and  the  advancement  of  the  holy  Catholic  faith  in  tlie 
New  World,  rather  than  for  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  imme- 
diate vicinage  in  which  the  ancestor  dwelt.  However  this  may 
be,  a  later  ancestor  was  among  those,  who,  with  that  mixture  of 
courage  and  suavity  which  enabled  the  voyageurs  of  that  day 
so  successfully  to  secure  and  hold  the  good  will  of  the  unso- 
phisticated red-skin,  pushed  westward  along  the  Great  Lakes 
until  they  came  to  the  Straits,  where  so  many  advantages  of  a 
trading-post  were  combined,  that  Detroit  was  there  located  and 
christened. 

The  mutations  of  government,  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the 
anglicization  of  their  surroundings  had  robbed  the  descendants 

7 


8  A  FOOUS  ERRAND, 

of  the  original  Servosse  of  every  trace  of  their  Gallic  ancestry 
except  the  name  ;  and  it  is  only  mentioned  here  for  the  benefit 
of  some  curious  student  of  mental  phenomena  with  credence 
in  hereditary  traits,  who  may  believe  that  an  ancestor  who 
could  volmitarily  abandon  the  champagnes  of  Burgundy  for 
the  Heights  of  Abraham,  by  whatever  enticing  name  the  same 
might  be  called,  was  quite  capable  of  transmitting  to  his 
descendants  such  an  acces  de  lafolie  as  was  manifested  by  our 
particular  Fool. 

Certainly,  no  such  defect  can  be  attributed  to  his  maternal 
line  :  they  knew  on  w^hich  side  their  bread  was  buttered.  Of 
the  truest  of  Puritan  stock,  the  mother's  family  had  found  a 
lodgment  on  a  little  hillside  farm  carved  out  of  the  Hop- 
Brook  Grant  in  Berkshire,  which  seemed  almost  as  precarious 
in  its  rocky  ruggedness  and  inaccessibility  as  the  barn-swallow's 
nest,  clinging  in  some  mysterious  way  to  the  steep  slope  under 
the  eaves  of  the  old  hip-roofed  barn  against  which  it  was 
built.  Yet,  like  the  nest,  the  little  hillside  home  had  sufficed 
for  the  raising  of  many  a  sturdy  brood,  who  had  flown  away 
to  the  constantly  receding  West  almost  before  they  had  grown 
to  full-fledged  man-  and  w^omanhood.  Brave-hearted,  strong- 
limbed,  and  clear-headed,  or,  as  they  would  now  be  called,  level- 
headed,  were  these  children  of  the  Berkshire  hills.  There  was 
no  trace  of  mental  unsoundness  about  any  of  them.  Especially 
free  from  such  imputation  was  Eliza  Hall,  the  golden-haired, 
brown-eyed,  youngest  of  nine,  who,  with  her  saucily  upturning 
nose,  a  few  freckles  on  her  round  cheeks,  which  made  their 
peach-bloom  all  the  more  noticeable,  —  despite  the  entreaties 
of  friends,  the  prayers  of  lovers,  and  the  protest  of  parents,  — 
would  away  to  the  West  in  her  eighteenth  year  to  become  a 
Yankee  schoolma'am  in  Michigan. 

That  the  young  lumberman,  Michael  Servosse,  —  rich  in  the 
limitless  possibilities  of  a  future  cast  in  the  way  which  had 
been  marked  out  by  nature  as  the  path  of  advancing  empire, 
a  brave  heart  and  unquenchable  energy,  to  whom  thousands 
of  acres  of  unrivaled  pine-lands  yielded  tribute,  and  whose 
fleet  of  snug  schooners  was  every  year  growing  larger,  —  that 


THE   GENESIS  OF  FOLLY.  ^ 

he  should  capture  and  mate  with  the  fair  bird  from  the  New- 
England  home-nest  was  as  fitting  as  the  most  enthusiastic 
advocate  of  natural  selection  could  desire.  They  were  the 
fairest  types  of  remote  stocks  of  kindred  races,  invigorated  by 
the  fresh  life  of  a  new  continent. 

The  first  fruit  of  such  a  union  was  the  Fool,  born  on  the  first 
day  of  the  month  of  flowers,  in  the  year  of  grace  one  thou- 
sand eight  hmidred  and  thirty-four,  on  the  very  spot  where 
the  Iroquois  met  in  council  with  the  great  chief  Pontiac  when 
the  cunning  plan  was  devised  to  gain  entrance  to  the  fort  by 
playing  a  game  of  lacrosse  on  the  parade-ground  for  the 
amusement  of  the  garrison.  The  wife  of  a  year,  as  the 
perils  of  maternity  drew  nigh  in  the  absence  of  her  husband, 
who  was  up  the  lake  attending  to  his  sprmg  shipments, 
began  to  sigh  for  her  far-away  mountain  home,  and  so  named 
the  new  life,  which  brought  consolation  to  her  loneliness, 
Comfort. 

During  his  babyhood,  boyhood,  and  youth,  our  hero  mani- 
fested none  of  those  characteristics  from  which  he  afterwards 
received  the  name  by  which  he  is  known  in  these  pages.  He 
was  reared  with  care.  Though  his  father  died  while  he  was 
yet  young,  he  left  sufficient  estate  to  enable  the  mother  to  give 
to  her  children  every  advantage  of  education,  and  divide  a 
small  surplus  between  them  as  each  arrived  at  man's  estate. 
The  young  Servosse,  therefore,  ate,  drank,  and  slept,  studied, 
played,  and  quarreled,  like  other  boys.  Like  others  who 
enter  college,  and  have  constitutions  sufficiently  robust  to  avoid 
dyspepsia  arising  from  sedentary  habits  and  the  frying-pan, 
he  left  it  at  the  end  of  four  years,  with  a  diploma  properly 
signed  and  sealed,  as  well  as  very  prettily  printed  on  mock 
parchment,  which  was  quite  as  good  as  veritable  sheepskin  for 
such  a  purpose.  He  studied  law,  as  so  many  sensible  men 
have  done  before  his  day,  and  with  his  first  mustache  was 
admitted  under  all  the  legal  forms  to  sign  himself  "  Attorney 
and  Counselor  at  Law,"  and  allowed  to  practice  his  art  upon 
such  clients  as  he  could  decoy  into  any  of  the  courts  of  the 
Commonwealth  of  Michigan.     Thereupon,  putting  in  force  the 


10  A  FOOVS  ERRAND. 

"  Circumspice "  which  appeared  upon  the  seal  attached  to  his 
license,  he  cast  about  for  a  place  in  which  to  set  snares  for  the 
unwary,  and  pitched  upon  the  town  of  Peru;  hung  out  his 
shingle  ;  obtained  a  fair  business ;  married  the  pretty  Metta 
Ward ;  and,  in  the  summer  of  his  twenty-seventh  year,  mani- 
fested the  first  symptoms  of  that  mental  weakness  which  led 
him  to  perform  the  task  of  unwisdom  hereinafter  narrated. 


CHAPTER  IL 

LE   PREMIER   ACCES. 

It  was  the  23d  of  July  in  his  twenty-seventh  year.  He  had 
been  for  several  days  in  a  very  depressed  state  of  mind,  ner- 
vous and  irritable,  beset  "by  gloomy  forebodings,  wakeful,  and, 
when  he  did  sleep,  moaning  as  if  in  anguish  of  mind,  talking 
in  his  sleep,  or  waking  suddenly  and  crying  out,  as  if  in  danger 
or  distress.  There  was  nothing  in  his  social  or  business  rela- 
tions to  justify  any  such  state  of  mind.  He  was  very  warmly 
regarded  by  the  little  community  in  which  he  was  settled,  —  a 
leader  in  its  social  life,  an  active  member  of  the  church  in 
which  he  had  been  reared,  and  superintendent  of  its  sabbath 
school.  He  had  a  good  home,  undistinguished  by  mortgage  or 
Incumbrance  of  any  sort ;  a  wife,  whose  energy  and  activity 
kept  this  home  in  the  neatest  possible  condition,  almost  as  it 
seemed  without  exertion,  and  certainly  without  the  tyranny  of 
servants;  an  office  in  the  very  center  of  the  town,  where  it 
could  not  escape  the  search  of  the  most  unwilling  or  unobser- 
vant seeker ;  and  a  practice  which  yielded  him  more  than  he 
had  any  call  to  spend.  All  this  should  have  made  him  the 
most  contented  and  happy  of  men. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  comforting  surroundings,  he  had  for 
a  considerable  time  neglected  his  business  to  a  marked  degree, 
and  seemed  to  have  little  interest  in  those  things  which  ought 


LE  PREMIER   ACCES.  11 

most  nearly  to  have  concerned  him.  For  the  last  few  clays  he 
seemed  to  have  had  no  heart  or  interest  in  any  thing  save  the 
results  of  a  battle,  which  w^as  said  to  have  been  fought  half 
a  thousand  miles  away,  in  which  neither  he  nor  any  one  of  his 
clients  had  an  interest  which  could  have  been  measured  by  the 
American  unit  of  value  or  any  fraction  thereof.  Yet  this 
young  attorney  was  refusing  to  eat  or  drink,  because  he  did  not 
know  the  results  of  said  battle,  or  perhaps  because  he  feared 
that  it  might  not  turn  out  to  his  notion. 

Metta,  his  young  wife,  was  surprised  and  alarmed.  Never 
before  had  there  been  any  thing  like  trouble  in  the  breast  of 
her  spouse,  that  he  did  not  lighten  his  heart  of  at  least  half  its 
load  by  at  once  revealing  to  her  the  cause  of  his  annoyance. 
The  difficulties  of  each  puzzling  case  were  talked  over  with 
her ;  and  not  unfrequently  her  pure  unbiased  heart  had  pointed 
out  to  him  equities  which  his  grosser  nature  had  failed  to  per- 
ceive. Had  he  been  cast  in  an  action,  he  was  sure  to  come 
home  at  night,  perhaps  dragging  and  weary  with  the  story 
of  his  discomfiture,  to  receive  consolation  and  encouragement 
from  her  lips;  but  this  new  trouble  he  had  studiously  con- 
cealed from  her.  At  least  he  had  refrained  from  all  conversa- 
tion in  regard  to  it,  and  revealed  its  existence  only  by  the 
involuntary  symptoms  which  we  have  set  forth.  But  who  could 
conceal  such  symptoms  from  the  eye  of  love  ?  She  had  seen 
them,  and  wept  and  trembled  at  the  evil  that  portended.  She 
was  no  skilled  student  of  mental  phenomena;  but,  if  she  had 
been,  she  would  have  known  that  all  these  indications  —  in- 
somnia, causeless  apprehension,  anxiety  in  regard  to  matters  of 
no  personal  moment  to  him,  moodiness,  and  studious  conceal- 
ment of  the  cause  of  his  disquietude  —  were  most  infallible 
indicators  of  mental  disorder.  Yet,  although  she  did  not 
know  this  as  a  scientific  fact,  her  heart  had  diagnosed  the 
symptoms ;  and  the  prescience  of  love  had  taught  her  with 
unerring  accuracy  to  apprehend  the  evil  which  impended. 
With  the  self-forgetfulness  of  womanly  devotion,  she  had  con- 
cealed her  sorrow  from  the  purblind  eyes  of  the  dull  mole 
whose  heart  was  occupied  only  with  the  morbid  fancies  which 


12  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

were  eating  their  relentless  way  into  his  soul.  She  wept  in 
secret  over  what  she  foresaw,  and  pressed  her  hands  with  tear- 
ful beseeching  to  her  troubled  heart,  while  her  white  lips 
uttered  the  prayer,  which  she  felt  could  not  be  answered,  "  I 
pray  Thee,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me  !  " 

Yet  she  met  him,  through  whom  she  knew  this  affliction 
must  come,  ever  with  smiles  and  gladness.  At  morn  she  kissed 
him  farewell,  as  he  stood  on  the  vine-covered  porch  of  their 
little  cottage,  when  he  started  for  his  office,  while  the  balmy 
breath  of  the  summer  morning  blew  over  them,  and  the  bees 
hummed  from  flower  to  flower,  sipping  the  honeyed  dew  from 
the  throats  of  the  unclosed  morning-glories.  At  noon,  when 
he  came  for  the  mid-day  meal,  the  door  flew  open  before  his 
hand  had  touched  the  knob,  and  she  stood  before  him  in  the 
little  hall,  draped  in  the  neat,  cool  muslin  which  became  her  so 
well,  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  inextinguishable  lovelight  in 
her  eyes.  And  when  h^  would  sit  in  moody  silence  after  their 
pleasant  tea,  while  the  evening  shadows  fell  around,  —  brood- 
ing, ever  brooding,  over  the  evil  which  he  would  persist  in 
making  his  own,  —  she  would  steal  into  his  lap,  and  her  soft 
arms  would  clasp  his  neck,  while  her  lips  would  not  rest  from 
prattle  or  song  until  bribed  into  silence  by  kisses  or  laughter. 
Never  had  his  home  been  so  sweet.  Never  could  home  be 
sweeter.  Yet  all  this  seemed  only  to  increase  his  melancholy, 
and  make  him  even  more  moody  and  disconsolate. 

On  the  previous  day  he  had  come  home  before  the  tea-table 
had  been  set,  —  an  hour  before  his  usual  time ;  but  somehow  she 
had  expected  that  he  would  do  so.  She  had  peeped  through 
the  blinds  of  her  little  chamber,  and  seen  him  coming ;  so  that, 
as  he  climbed  wearily  up  the  steps,  he  found  her  standing  on 
the  lower  stair  in  the  hall,  her  lips  wreathed  in  smiles,  and  her 
head  crowned  with  roses,  as  she  waited  to  spring  into  his  arms. 

"  O  Metta ! "  he  said  in  an  agonized  voice,  as  he  clasped  her 
to  his  breast,  and  then  put  her  away,  and  looked  into  her  blush- 
ing face  and  into  the  eyes  which  were  crowding  back  the  tears 
she  was  determined  should  not  flow,  — "  O  Metta,  we  are 
beaten!" 


SORROW  COMETH   WITH  KNOWLEDGE.       13 

"  In  what  case  ?  "  she  asked,  at  once  pretending  to  misunder- 
stand the  purport  of  his  words. 

He  saw  the  pretty  little  trick ;  but  he  was  too  sad,  and  mel- 
ancholy had  taken  too  firm  a  hold  upon  him,  to  allow  him  to 
reward  it  with  a  smile. 

"  Alas ! "  he  sighed,  "  this  can  be  laughed  aw^ay  no  longer. 
Blood  has  been  shed.  Not  a  few  lives,  but  a  thousand,  have 
been  lost.  Our  army  has  fought  at  a  place  called  Bull  Run, 
and  been  terribly  defeated." 


CHAPTER   11 L 

SORROW   COMETH    W'lTH    KNOWLEDGE. 

There  were  no  more  smiles  in  the  cozy  home  after  that 
announcement.  He  had  brought  with  him  a  newspaper,  whose 
horrible  details  absorbed  his  attention,  and  from  which  he  read 
aloud  to  her,  as  with  noiseless  step  and  white  lips  and  ashen 
cheeks  she  went  about  preparing  the  evening  meal,  of  which 
they  had  partaken  together  for  the  last  time  alone.  Another 
presence  —  grim  and  terrible  —  sat  at  the  board  with  them  that 
night,  and  imbittered  all  the  sweet  viands  which  her  pretty 
hands  had  prepared  with  such  loving  care.  The  name  of  this 
presence  was  War.  It  sat  opposite  the  wife,  and  over  against 
the  husband.  Its  shadow  blighted  his  brain,  and  paralyzed  her 
heart.  She  could  not  eat;  and  the  Fool  noticed  dully,  when  he 
could  lift  his  eyes  from  the  paper  beside  his  plate,  that  there 
were  great  black  circles  about  her  eyes,  which  were  not  there 
when  he  had  first  met  her  in  the  hall  that  morning. 

After  supper  he  went  out,  which  was  another  sign  of  mental 
alienation ;  since  he  had  never  before  known  a  time  when  he 
would  willingly  leave  his  pretty  home  and  gentle  wife  for  the 
society  of  men.  He  stayed  late,  and  she  pretended  to  be  asleep 
when  he  came  in.     She  had  been  weeping  in  her  loneliness ; 


14  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

and  her  heart  was  so  sore  that  she  could  not  venture  to  give 
him  the  good-night  kiss,  which  she  had  never  before  omitted. 
In  the  morning  there  was  the  same  heaviness ;  and  the  same 
Shadow  sat  with  them  at  the  breakfast-table  and  mocked  at  the 
Fool,  as  he  read  the  morning's  paper,  and  did  not  see  the  tears 
that  rolled  down  the  wife's  cheeks. 

He  did  not  come  home  to  dine,  but  sent  word  that  he  was 
too  busy  to  leave  his  office  ;  and  it  was  late  when  he  came  to 
supper.  His  melancholy  seemed  to  have  departed ;  and  he  was 
strangely,  unnaturally  cheerful  and  tender  to  his  young  wife. 
He  came  up  the  steps  with  a  bound,  took  her  lovingly  from 
the  lower  stair,  where  she  generally  awaited  him,  and,  when  he 
had  kissed  her  a  dozen  times  or  so,  bore  her  in  his  arms  to  the 
dining-room,  where  the  tea-table  was  already  spread.  Through 
the  whole  meal  he  rattled  on  of  every  thing  except  the  fearful 
Shadow  which  sat  opposite,  and  which  he  pretended  not  to  see. 
When  the  meal  was  over,  he  led  his  wdf  e  into  the  sitting-room ; 
and  taking  a  seat  by  the  window,  over  which  clambered  a  rose- 
tree,  some  blossoms  from  which  were  in  her  hair,  he  seated  her 
upon  his  lap,  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  finally  said  in 
tremulous  tones,  — 

"Metta,  the  governor  has  called  for  more  troops." 

There  was  no  response,  except  that  the  bowed  head  upon  his 
breast  nestled  closer,  and  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a  sob  choked 
down  in  the  white  throat. 

"Don't  you  think,  Metta,  that  I —  that  is —  we —  ought 
to  do  something  —  for  the  country?" 

Then  came  a  little  wailing  cry. 

"  Didn't  I  pick  lint  for  two  whole  days,  and  sew  bandages, 
and  roll  them  ;  and  [a  burst  of  tears]  I'm  sure  I'm  willing  to 
do  it  every  day —  if —  if —  if  it  will  do  any  good." 

Then  the  tears  flowed  in  a  torrent,  and  the  slender  form 
shook  with  successive  sobs,  as  if  a  great  deep  had  been  sud- 
denly broken  up. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that!"  said  the  Fool.  "Don't  you 
think  /  ought  to  do  something?  —  that  I  ought  to —  to — 
go  ?  " 


SORROW  COMETH   WITH  KNOWLEDGE.       15 

"Go!  where?"  came  the  response  in  assumed  wonder ;  for 
fihe  would  not  understand. 

"To  the  war,  dear,"  he  answered  gently. 

"  AVhat !  "  she  cried.  "  You !  you  !  my  husband  !  Oh,  it  is 
not,  it  can  not  be  so !  Surely  there  is  no  need  of  that.  Can 
we  not'  do  enough  —  our  share  —  without  that?  O  darling,  I 
should  die ! " 

She  sobbed  as  if  about  to  make  good  her  words,  and  clung 
about  his  neck  with  kisses  and  tears  mingled  in  distracted 
confusion. 

"  Oh,  if  I  should  lose  you!  Darling,  darling!  think  of  our 
pretty  home !  your  bright  future,  and  —  and,"  she  whispered 
something  in  his  ear.  "  Surely  some  must  stay  at  home ;  and 
why  not  you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,  darling,"  he  said,  "  do  not  tempt  me  !  I  know  it 
is  hard;  but  I  could  not  look  you  in  the  face,  and  know  that  I 
had  shirked  the  call.  Nay  more,  my  darling!  I  could  not  gaze 
without  a  blush  into  the  innocent  face  of  that  little  child,  if 
I  should  fail  to  take  a  man's  part  in  the  great  struggle  which 
the  nation  is  waging  with  the  wrong!  I  could  not  see  your 
babe,  and  think  that  it  might  some  time  blush  for  its  father's 
cowardice ! " 

As  if  it  could  make  any  possible  difference  to  the  little  one 
who  was  expected,  whether  its  father  continued  a  thrifty  and 
prosperous  attorney,  as  he  had  hitherto  been,  or  became  a  red- 
handed  slayer  of  men !  or,  indeed,  whether  the  said  heir 
expectant  would  not  be  better  pleased,  and  his  interests  better 
served,  by  his  father  taking  the  former  course  rather  than  the 
latter! 

However,  the  young  wife  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  argue 
with  a  mind  so  evidently  distorted  in  its  apprehension  of  facts, 
and  lay  weeping  and  sobbing  in  his  arms  until  he  had  fired 
her  fancy  with  bright  pictures  of  military  glory  and  the 
sweets  of  the  return  home,  when  Peace  should  crown  him  with 
laurels,  and  spread  a  feast  of  all  good  things  for  the  heroes 
who  went  forth  to  battle  for  the  right. 

So,  in  a  few  days,  he  marched   forth   clad  in   the   foolish 


1^  A  FOOUS   ERRAND. 

foppery  of  war,  avoiding  his  wife's  tearful  gaze,  and  taking 
pride  and  credit  to  himself  for  so  doing. 

He  was  the  captain  of  the  "Peru  Invincibles,"  which  con- 
stituted Company  B  of  an  infantry  regiment,  that  did  an 
incredible  amount  of  boasting  at  the  outset,  a  marvelous 
amount  of  running  soon  after,  and  a  reasonable  amount  of 
fighting  still  later  in  the  Civil  War,  -vyhich  had  then  just 
begun. 

This  species  of  mental  alienation  was  then  of  such  frequent 
occurrence  that  it  might  well  be  regarded  as  epidemic.  It 
displayed  itself  chiefly  in  an  irresistible  inclination  to  the 
wearing  of  blue  clothing  and  the  carrying  of  dangerous 
weapons,  together  with  a  readiness  to  use  them  in  a  very 
unpleasant  and  reckless  manner.  There  were  many  mild 
cases,  in  which  the  mania  manifested  itself  in  very  loud  and 
reckless  talk  about  what  ought  to  be  done.  These  cases  were 
not  at  all  dangerous,  as  they  never  went  beyond  that  point. 
The  persons  acutely  affected  received  different  names  in 
different  localities.  In  some  they  were  called  "  Boys  in  Blue," 
"  The  Country's  Hope,"  and  "  Our  Brave  Soldier-Boys ;  "  while 
in  others  they  were  termed  "Lincoln's  Hirelings,"  "Abolition 
Hordes,"  and  "Yankee  Vandals."  It  may  be  observed,  too, 
that  the  former  methods  of  distinguishing  them  prevailed 
generally  m  the  States  lying  to  the  north,  and  the  latter  in 
those  lying  to  the  south,  of  what  used  to  be  called  "Mason  and 
Dixon's  line."  Both  meant  the  same  thing.  The  difference 
was  only  in  the  form  of  expression  peculiar  to  the  respective 
regions.  All  these  names,  when  properly  translated,  signified 
Fools, 


FROM  BAD   TO   WORSE,  17 


CHAPTER  IV, 

FROM    BAD   TO    WORSE. 

Four  years  have  elapsed,  and  our  Fool  is  lying  on  the  green- 
sward, under  the  clustering  maples,  in  front  of  the  little  cottage 
from  which  he  marched  away  in  stoical  disregard  of  his  young 
wife's  tears. 

A  rollicking  witch,  whom  he  calls  "Lil,"  is  fighting  a  sham 
battle  with  the  soldier-papa  whom  she  has  never  seen  until  a 
week  before,  but  whom  she  now  tramples  and  punches  and 
pelts  with  that  sublime  disregard  for  the  feelings  of  the  as- 
saulted party  which  shows  the  confidence  she  has  in  his  capaci- 
ty to  "  endure  hardness  like  a  good  soldier."  Resting  with 
her  back  against  the  tree-trunk,  with  a  mass  of  fluffy  white 
cloth  overspreading  the  light  dotted  muslin  which  rises  about 
her  in  cool  profusion  as  she  sits  among  the  long  grass,  is  Metta, 
the  brave  young  wife,  whose  tears  ceased  to  flow  when  she 
found  they  were  powerless  to  detain  the  Fool  away  from  war's 
alarms,  and  were  all  turned  into  smiles,  and  treasured  up  to 
await  his  return  and  restoration  to  his  right  mind. 

Ah!  many  a  thousand  times  her  heart  has  stood  still  with 
fear  for  him ;  and  now,  as  she  playfully  watches  the  struggle 
going  on,  we  can  see  that  there  is  an  older  look  upon  her  brow 
than  we  had  marked  there  before.  The  gray  eyes  have  a 
soberer  light,  though  brimming  over  with  joy  ;  the  lips,  a  trick 
of  closing  sharply,  as  if  they  would  shut  back  the  sob  of  fear  ; 
and  the  hand  wanders  often  to  the  side,  as  if  it  would  hush  by 
its  presence  the  wild  beatings  of  a  sad  heart.  No  wonder  ;  for 
the  Shadow  that  sat  at  their  table  four  years  before  had  break- 
fasted, dined,  and  supped  with  her  ever  since,  until  the  Fool 
came  back  a  week  ago.  She  knows  that  she  has  grown  old,  — 
lived  many  a  decade  in  those  four  years ;  but  she  has  quite  for- 
given the  unconscious  cause  of  all  her  woe,  and  is  busily  en- 


18  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

gaged  in  preparing  garments  which  shall  carry  no  hint  of  his 
unfortunate  malady.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said  that  she  has  some 
pardonable  pride  in  the  eclat  with  which  he  returns.  He  ha? 
been  promoted  and  gazetted  for  gallant  conduct,  and  general 
orders  and  reports  have  contained  his  name ;  while  the  news* 
papers  have  teemed  with  glowing  accounts  of  his  gallantry. 
He  is  colonel  now;  has  been  breveted  a  brigadier-general, 
but  despises  the  honor  which  comes  as  a  thing  of  course,  in- 
stead of  being  -won  by  hard  knocks.  He  is  over  thirty ;  and,  as 
he  romps  with  their  first-born,  she  looks  forward  to  how  many 
ages  of  ecstasy  in  the  sweet  seclusion  of  their  pretty  home. 

"There,  there,  Lily  !  go  and  play  with  Pedro,"  she  says  at 
length.  "You  will  tire  papa.  He  is  not  used  to  having  such 
a  sturdy  little  girl  to  romp  with  him." 

She  is  half  jealous  of  the  child,  who  shares  her  husband's 
attention  which  she  has  hungered  for  so  long.  The  child  goes 
over  to  the  old  Xewfoundland  who  is  stretched  at  ease  on  the 
other  side  of  the  tree ;  and,  when  the  parents  look  again,  her 
golden  curls  are  spread  upon  his  shaggy  coat,  and  both  are 
asleep.  The  wife  draws  her  husband's  hand  upon  her  knee, 
lets  fall  her  needle,  and  forgets  the  world  in  the  joy  of  his  pres- 
ence and  of  communion  with  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  Metta,"  he  said  after  a  long  silence,  "■  that  I 
have  half  a  mind  to  go  back  ?  " 

"  Back  !  where  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"Why,  back  to  the  South,  whence  I  have  just  come,"  he 
answered. 

"  ^Tiat  !  to  live  ?  "  she  asked,  with  wide,  wondering  eyes. 

"  Certainly  :  at  least  I  hope  so,"  he  responded  gayly. 

"  But  you  are  not  in  earnest.  Comfort,  surely,"  with  an  under- 
tone of  pain  in  her  voice. 

"Indeed  I  am,  dear!"  he  replied.  "You  see,  this  is  the 
way  I  look  at  it.  I  have  been  gone  four  years.  These  other 
fellows,  Gobard  and  Clarke,  have  come  in,  and  got  my  practice 
all  away.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  If  not  they,  it  must  have 
been  some  others.  People  must  have  lawyers  as  well  as  doc- 
lors.     So  I  must  start  anew,  even  if  I  remain  here." 


FROM  BAD   TO    WORSE.  19 

"But  it  will  not  be  difficult,"  she  interrupted.  "You  do  not 
know  how  many  of  your  old  clients  have  asked  about  you,  and 
were  only  waiting  for  your  return  to  give  you  their  business 
again." 

"  Of  course ;  but  it  will  be  slow  work,  and  I  have  lost  four 
years.  Remember,  I  am  over  thirty  now;  and  we  have  only 
our  house  and  the  surplus  of  my  savings  in  the  army,  —  not 
any  thing  like  the  competency  I  hoped  to  have  secured  by  this 
time,"  he  said  somewhat  gloomily, 

"  But  surely  there  is  no  haste.  We  are  yet  young,  and  have 
only  Lily.  We  can  live  very  snugly,  and  you  will  soon  have 
a  much  better  business  than  ever  before.  I  am  sure  of  that," 
she  hastened  to  say. 

"But,  darling,  do  you  know  I  am  half  afraid  to  stay  here? 
It  is  true  I  look  brown  and  rugged  from  exposure,  —  as  who  that 
went  to  the  sea  with  Shaman  does  not  ?  —  and  my  beard,  which 
has  grown  long  and  full,  no  doubt  gives  me  a  look  of  sturdi- 
ness  and  strength ;  but  for  several  months  I  have  been  far  from 
well.  I  weigh  much  less  than  when  I  left  here ;  and  this  old 
wound  in  my  lungs  has  been  troubling  me  a  deal  of  late. 
Dr.  Burns  told  me  that  my  only  chance  for  length  of  days  was 
a  long  rest  in  a  genial  climate.  He  says  I  am  worn  out ;  and 
of  course  it  shows  at  the  weak  point,  just  like  a  chain.  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  never  practice  my  profession  again.  It  hardly 
seems  as  if  I  could  stand  it  to  sit  at  the  desk,  or  address  a 
jury." 

"  Is  it  so,  darling  ?  "  she  asked  with  trembling  lips,  while  the 
happiness  fled  out  of  her  face,  and  left  the  dull  gray  which  had 
come  to  be  its  accustomed  look  during  those  long  years  of 
waiting. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  tenderly  ;  "but  do  not  be  alarmed.  It  is 
nothing  serious,  —  at  least  not  now.  I  was  thinking,  as  we  had 
to  begin  over  after  a  fashion,  whether,  considering  every  thing, 
it  would  not  be  best  to  go  South.  We  could  buy  a  plantation, 
and  settle  down  to  country  life  for  a  few  years ;  and  I  may  get 
over  all  traces  of  this  difficulty  in  that  climate.  This  is  what 
the  doctor  advises." 


20  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"  But  will  it  be  safe  there  ?  Can  we  live  there  among  the 
rebels  ?  "  she  inquired  anxiously. 

"Oh,"  he  responded  promptly,  "I  have  no  fear  of  that! 
The  war  is  over,  and  we  who  have  been  fighting  each  other  are 
now  the  best  of  friends.  I  do  not  think  there  will  be  a  parti- 
cle of  danger.  For  a  few  months  there  may  be  disorders  in 
some  sections ;  but  they  will  be  very  rare,  and  will  not  last  any 
time." 

"Well,  dear,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "you  know  that  I  will 
always  say  as  Ruth  did,  and  most  cheerfully  too,  '  Whither 
thou  goest,  I  will  go.'  You  know  better  than  I;  and,  if  your 
health  demands  it,  no  consideration  can  be  put  beside  that. 
Yet  I  must  own  that  I  have  serious  apprehensions  in  regard 
to  it." 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "there  must  be  great  changes,  of  course! 
Slavery  has  been  broken  up,  and  things  must  turn  into  new 
grooves ;  but  I  think  the  country  will  settle  up  rapidly,  now 
that  slavery  is  out  of  the  way.  Manufactures  will  spring  up, 
immigration  will  pour  in,  and  it  will  be  just  the  pleasantest 
part  of  the  country.  I  believe  one-fifth  of  our  soldiers  —  and 
that  the  very  best  part  of  them  too  —  will  find  homes  in  the 
South  in  less  than  two  years,  just  as  soon  as  they  can  clear 
out  their  old  places,  and  find  new  ones  there  to  their  mind." 

So  he  talked,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  the  social  conditions 
of  three  hundred  years  are  not  to  be  overthrown  in  a  moment, 
and  that  differences  which  have  outlasted  generations,  and 
finally  ripened  into  war,  are  never  healed  by  simple  victory,  — 
that  the  broken  link  can  not  be  securely  joined  by  mere  juxta- 
position of  the  fragments,  but  must  be  fused  and  hammered 
before  its  fibers  will  really  unite. 


THE   ORACLE  IS  CONSULTED,  21 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   ORACLE    IS   CONSULTED. 

The  doubt  which  Metta  had  expressed  led  the  Fool,  a  few 
days  afterwards,  to  address  a  grave,  wise  man,  in  whose  judg- 
ment he  had  always  jDlaced  much  reliance,  in  order  to  obtain 
his  views  upon  the  proposed  change  of  domicile.  So  he  wrote 
to  his  former  college-president,  the  Rev.  Enos  Martin,  D.D.  :  — 

"My  deak  old  Friend,  — The  fact  that  I  paid  so  little  heed  to 
your  monitions  when  under  your  charge,  is  perhaps  the  reason  why 
I  prize  your  opinion  upon  any  important  matter  now.  I  would  like 
to  have  your  views  on  the  question  following,  promising  to  weigh 
them  carefully,  though  I  may  not  act  upon  them. 

"I  am  considering  the  idea  of  removing  my  household  gods  to 
Dixie.  So  far  as  my  personal  characteristics  are  concerned,  you 
know  them  better  than  any  one  else  probably,  except  myself,  and 
would  not  take  my  own  estimate  of  what  you  do  not  know.  I  can 
muster  a  few  thousand  dollars,  —  from  eight  to  ten  perhaps.  I  have 
come  out  of  the  war  a  little  the  worse  for  what  I  have  been  throu£;h ; 
having  some  trouble  in  or  about  one  lung,  no  one  seems  to  know 
just  where,  and  some  other  mementoes  of  the  affectionate  regard  of 
our  rebel  friends.  I  find  my  practice  gone,  of  course,  and  am  a  bit 
afraid  of  our  cold  winters.  As  I  desire  your  views,  I  will  not  give 
mine.  Of  course  I  must  burn  my  bridges  if  I  go.  I  am  too  old  to 
face  a  future  containing  two  upheavals. 
"  Yours  ever, 

"COSEFOIIT  SeBVOSSE." 

In  a  few  days  there  came  this  answer :  — 

"My  dear  Colonel, —I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  considering 
the  question  stated  in  your  letter.  Of  course  I  can  not  advise  you,  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  that  word;  nor  do  I  suppose  you  desire  that  I 
should.  I  can  only  give  my  general  impressions  in  regard  to  the 
future  of  that  part  of  the  country  to  which  you  think  of  removinjr. 

"  It  is  too  soon  to  speculate  as  to  what  will  be  the  course  of  the 
government  in  regard  to  the  rebellious  sections.    A  thousand  plans 


22  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

are  proposed,  all  of  them,  as  it  seems  to  me,  crude,  incomplete,  and 
weak.  One  thing  is  certain,  I  think:  no  one  will  be  punished  for 
rebellion.  It  is  true,  Davis  and  a  few  others  may  be  invited  to  go 
abroad  for  a  few  years  for  the  country's  good,  and  perhaps  at  its  ex- 
pense; but  it  will  end  there.  There  will  be  no  examples  made,  no 
reprisals,  no  confiscation.  At  the  same  time,  if  the  results  of  the 
war  are  to  be  secured,  and  the  nation  protected  against  the  recur- 
rence of  such  a  calamit}^  these  States  must  be  rebuilt  from  the  very 
ground-sill.  I  am  afraid  this  is  not  sufficiently  realized  by  the  coun- 
try. I  have  no  idea  of  any  immediate  trouble  in  the  South.  Such 
exhanstive  revolutions  as  we  have  had  do  not  break  forth  into  new 
life  readily.  It  is  the  smoldering  embers  which  are  to  be  feared, 
perhaps  a  score  of  j^ears  hence.  And  this  can  be  prevented  only  by 
a  thorough  change  in  the  tone  and  bent  of  the  jieople.  How  much 
prospect  there  is  of  such  change  being  wrought  by  the  spontaneous 
action  of  the  Southern  people,  I  do  not  know:  I  fear,  not  much. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  only  way  to  effect  it  is  by  the  influence 
of  Northern  immigration.  Of  course  the  old  economies  of  the  plan- 
tation and  the  negro-quarters  will  have  to  give  way.  The  labor  of 
that  section  must  be  organized,  or  rather  taught  to  manage  itself,  to 
become  automatic  in  its  operations.  The  former  master  is  not  pre- 
pared to  do  this :  First,  because  he  does  not  know  how ;  and,  secondly, 
because  the  freedman  has  no  confidence  in  his  old  master's  desire  to 
promote  his  interests.  There  will  be  exceptions;  but  this  will  be  the 
rule.  In  this  re-organization,  I  think  men  who  have  been  acquainted 
with  free  labor  will  be  able  to  give  valuable  aid,  and  accomplish  good 
results.  I  look  and  hope  for  considerable  movements  of  population, 
both  from  the  North  to  the  South,  and  vice  versa ;  because  I  think  it 
is  only  by  such  intermingling  of  the  people  of  the  two  sections  that 
they  can  ever  become  one,  and  the  danger  of  future  evil  be  averted. 
Should  the  present  controversy  be  concluded,  and  new  States  erected 
in  the  recently  rebellious  sections,  without  a  large  increase  of  the 
Northern  element  in  their  populations,  I  am  confident  that  the  result 
will  be  but  temporary,  and  the  future  peace  of  the  country  insecure. 

"As  to  the  social  and  financial  prospects  of  persons  removing 
there,  I  suppose  it  depends  very  much  on  the  persons  themselves, 
and  the  particular  locality  to  which  they  go.  I  should  say  you  were 
well  fitted  for  such  pioneer  work;  and,  if  you  should  conclude  to  go, 
I  wish  you  all  success  and  happiness  in  your  new  home,  and  trust 
that  you  may  find  there  friends  as  devoted  and  sincere  as  you  have 
hitherto  secured  by  an  upright  and  honorable  life. 

"  May  God  bless  you  and  yours  ! 

"  Ends  Martin." 


ALL   LOST  BUT  HONOR.  23 

By  this  letter,  both  the  notions  of  the  Fool  and  the  fears  of 
his  wife  were  strengthened.  Metta,  seeing  him  grow  more  and 
more  settled  in  his  determination,  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  offer  any  further  opposition ;  but  consoled  herself  with  the 
reflection  that  her  husband's  health  was  the  thing  of  prime  im- 
portance, and  smothered  her  fear  with  a  blind,  baseless  hope, 
that,  because  what  they  purposed  doing  was  a  thing  born  of 
good  motive  and  kindly  feeling,  it  would  be  prospered.  Some 
people  call  that  "  faith  ;  "  and  it  is  no  doubt  a  great  consolation, 
perhaps  the  only  one,  when  reason  and  common  sense  are 
squarely  opposed  to  the  course  one  is  taking. 


CHAPTER    VL 

ALL   LOST   BUT   HONOR. 

While  the  matter  was  in  this  unsettled  state,  the  Fool  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Colonel  Ezekiel  Vaughn  of  Pipersville,  a 
town  in  which  his  command  had  been  for  some  time  quartered 
just  before  he  had  quitted  the  service,  to  which  fact,  among 
other  things,  he  was  indebted  for  the  honor  of  Colonel  Vaughn's 
acquaintance. 

Some  few  days  after  the  collapse  of  the  Confederacy,  a  gen- 
tleman had  presented  himself  at  the  headquarters  of  the  Fool 
in  Pipersville,  and  directed  the  orderly  in  attendance  to  an- 
nounce that,  — 

"  Colonel  Ezekiel  Vaughn  desired  to  surrender,  and  take  the 
oath  of  allegiance." 

Thereupon  he  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  our  hero,  and 
with  considerable  pomposity  announced  the  fact  again.  Some- 
how he  did  not  seem  to  the  young  soldier  to  have  that  air  oi 
one  accustomed  to  camps  and  the  usage  of  armies  which  was  to 
be  expected  from  a  veteran  of  a  four-years'  war,  who  came  iu 
at  the  last  moment  to  give  up  his  sword,  after  all  his  comrades 


24  A  FOODS  ERRAND. 

had  been  paroled  and  had  departed.  It  is  true,  he  had  on  the 
regulation  gray  suit  of  "the  enemy;"  and  the  marks  of  rank 
upon  the  collar  might  at  one  time  have  been  intended  for  the 
grade  he  had  announced.  He  wore  a  light  slouch  hat,  which, 
though  not  of  any  prescribed  pattern,  had  evidently  seen  much 
service  of  some  kind.  But  the  surrender  brought  to  light  some 
queer  specimens  of  uniform  and  equipments,  so  that  Colonel  Ser- 
vosse  would  not  have  been  surprised  at  any  thing  that  an  officer 
might  have  worn.  There  was  something,  however,  in  the  loud 
and  somewhat  effusive  greeting,  which,  even  allowing  all  that 
it  was  possible  should  be  credited  to  laxity  of  discipline, 
show^ed  that  the  man  before  him  was  not  accustomed  to  associ- 
ation with  military  men.  So  he  asked  quietly,  — 
"  Of  what  regiment,  sir?  " 

"  Colonel  Vaughn,  —  Colonel  Vaughn,"  said  that  worthy,  de- 
positing himself  upon  a  camp-stool,  as  if  in  assertion  of  his  famil- 
iarity with  military  surroundings.  "Well,  sir,"  he  continued 
in  a  loud  and  somewhat  assuming  tone,  "  you've  got  us,  over- 
powered us  at  last.  It  was  the  Irish  and  Germans  that  did  it. 
I  had  no  idea  you,  could  get  so  many  of  them.  They  just 
swarmed  on  your  side.  The  Yankees  never  could  have  whipped 
us  in  the  world  by  themselves,  —  never.  But  it's  over.  I  sur- 
render, —  give  up,  —  quit.  I'm  not  one  of  those  that  want  to 
keep  up  a  fuss  always.  I've  come  in  to  give  myself  up,  and  go 
to  work  now  to  try  and  make  bread  and  meat,  sir,  —  bread  and 
meat.  You  uns  have  freed  all  the  niggers,  so  that  we  have 
nobody  to  work  for  us.  Have  to  come  to  it  ourselves.  Haven't 
you  got  a  mule  you  could  let  me  have.  Colonel?  Ham't  got  no 
money ;  but  Zek'le  Vaughn's  credit's  tolerably  good  yet,  I 
reckon.  Lost  forty  odd  niggers,  — as  likely  ones,  too,  as  ever 
stood  'twixt  soil  and  sunshine,  —  and  now  have  got  to  go  to 
plowing  —  at  my  age.  It's  hard;  but  we've  got  to  have  bread 
and  meat,  —  bread  and  meat,  sir.  Hard,  but  can't  be  helped. 
Did  all  I  could  agin  ye ;  but  here  you  are.  Let  me  take  the 
oath.  I  want  to  be  sworn,  and  go  to  plowing  before  the  suq 
gets  too  hot." 

"  \Miat  regiment  did  you  say,  sir?  "  repeated  the  officer. 


ALL  LOST  BUT  HONOR.  25 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  regiment !  "  said  the  other :  "  that's  all 
over  now.  Just  say  Colonel  Ezekiel  Vaughn  :  that's  enough. 
Everybody  knows  Colonel  Vaughn,  —  Zeke  Vaughn.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  should  find  they  knew  me  up  at  headquarters." 

"It  is  necessary,  sir,  that  I  have  the  name  and  number  of 
your  regiment  before  you  can  be  paroled,"  said  the  officer 
sharply. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  the  regiment.  "Well,  Colonel,  you  are  mighty  par- 
ticular, it  seems  to  me.  What  difference  can  it  make  now,  I 
should  like  to  know?  "  he  asked. 

"It  is  necessary  to  identify  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  see.  You  are  afraid  I  might  break  my  parole, 
and  give  you  some  trouble.  I  confess  I  have  not  been  whipped ; 
but  I  am  overpowered,  —  overpowered,  sir,  —  and  I  surrender  in 
good  faith.  I  give  my  honor,  sir,  —  the  honor  of  a  Southern 
gentleman,  —  as  well  as  my  oath,  sir!"  he  said,  with  a  great 
show  of  offended  dignity. 

"That  may  be,  Colonel,"  responded  the  officer;  "but  our 
orders  require  that  you  shall  be  fully  identified." 

"  Well,  well !  that's  very  proper.  Just  say  Colonel  Vaughn  of 
Pipersville  :  that  will  identify  me.  Everybody  in  the  State 
knows  me.  No  use  of  my  trying  to  get  away.  I  shall  be  right 
here,  when  you  want  to  find  me,  ready  to  come  up,  and  be  hung, 
if  that  is  to  be  the  end  of  it.  'Oh,  I  meant  it!  I  was  one  of 
the  original  '  Secesh,'  —  one  of  the  immortal  thirteen  that  voted 
for  it  in  this  county.  I  never  would  have  stopped  fightin'  ye  if 
I'd  had  my  way.  You'd  never  'a'  got  here  if  I'd  had  my  way! 
But  that's  all  over  now.  I  want  my  parole,  so  I  can  go  home, 
and  go  to  killin'  grass !  " 

"  When  I  learn  your  regiment  and  command,  I  will  fill  out 
the  blank,"  answered  the  officer  decisively. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  the  regiment.  Well,  Colonel,  the  fact  is,  — 
ahem  !  —  that  I've,  —  ahem  !  I've  done  forgot  what  number  it 
was." 

"What!  forgotten  the  number  of  your  regiment?  " 

"  Dog-goned  if  I  hain't,  —  slick  as  you  please.  You  see,  I 
wasn't  in  one  of  the  regular  regiments." 


26  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"Well,  •\Aliat  was  your  command?  to  what  division  or  brigade 
were  j'ou  attached  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wa'n't  exacth'  attached  to  any." 

"  Did  you  have  an  independent  command  ?  " 

"Xo:  not  exactly." 

"  Were  you  on  staff  duty  ?  " 

"Xot  exactly." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  were  '  exactly '  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  Colonel,  I  was  just  sorter  sloshin'  around 
loose-like." 

"  Ord.erly !  "  said  the  officer. 

A  soldier  entered  the  room,  and,  saluting  his  chief,  stood 
waiting  for  orders. 

"  Take  that*  man  to  the  guard-house  !  " 

"But—  Colonel,—  I," — 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  the  officer. 

"But—  I  protest,  Colonel,—  I,"  — 

"  Not  a  word,  sir !     Take  him  out !  " 

The  soldier  took  a  gun  which  stood  in  the  comer  of  the 
room,  and  motioned  towards  the  door. 

Colonel  Ezekiel  Vaughn  took  his  way  through  it  without 
more  ado,  and  was  marched  to  the  guard-house  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet,  and  in  constant  apprehension  lest  the  orderly's 
gun  might  explode. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN    OLD    "UNIOXER." 

In  a  little  time  another  party  was  ushered  into  the  colonel's 
quarters.  He  was  a  tall,  lank  countryman,  clad  in  a  suit  of 
country  jeans,  which  was  at  that  time  almost  the  exclusive 
wear.  He  had  a  long,  scraggly  beard,  of  a  dull,  sandy  color, 
with  streaks  of  gray;  and,  as  he  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
deferentially,  his   head   appeared   quite   bald.      There  was   a 


AN  OLD  "  UNIONER:'  27 

shrewd  look  in  his  small  gray  eyes,  and  he  seemed  to  approach 
the  officer  as  one  who  had  a  right  to  speak  freely  with  him. 
He  coughed  slightly,  and  put  a  hand  to  his  gray  beard  with  a 
pathetic  gesture  as  he  said,  — 

"  Colonel  Servosse,  I  reckon." 

"  Yes,  sir.     What  can  I  do  for  you?  "  was  the  answer. 

"AVal,  I  don't  know  ez  any  thin'.  I  jes'  thought  I'd  drop  in 
an'  chat  a  little."  He  coughed  again,  and  added  apologetically, 
"I'll  set  down,  ef  you'll  allow." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  "  said  the  officer ;  but  the  stranger  had  seated 
himself  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 

"I  reckon  you  don't  know  me.  Colonel.  Xo?  Wal !  my 
name's  Brown,  —  Jayhu  Brown." 

"  Jehu  Brown !  Xot  the  man  who  piloted  the  boys  thai 
escaped  from  Salisbury  prison  through  the  mountains  in 
eighteen  sixty-four?  " 

"Yes,"  with  another  cough,  "I'm  that  man.  You  weren'v 
in  the  crowd ;  were  ye,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  had  a  friend  who  w\as,  and  he  gave  me  an  ex 
plicit  injunction,  if  ever  I  came  into  this  section  to  find  yo 
out,  remember  him  to  jou,  and,  if  I  could  serve  you  in  an 
manner,  to  do  so  for  his  sake." 

"Thank  ye.     What  might  be  his  name?  " 

"Edgarton  —  Captain  Edgarton  — of  the  ^Michigan  Battery  ! ' 

"Oh,  yes!  T  mind  him  well  now.  A  big-shouldered,  likeb 
man,  with  long  hair  curlin'  in  his  neck.  I  cut  it  off,  so  that  iv 
shouldn't  be  a  mark  to  foUer  us  by.  He's  well,  I  hope."  And 
the  old  man  coughed  again. 

"  In  excellent  health.  Is  a  colonel  of  artillery  now,  and 
chief  of  that  arm,  on  the  staff  of  General  Davis  of  the  Four- 
teenth Corps.     He  would  be  overjoyed  to  see  you." 

"Thank  ye,  thank  ye!  So  you'd  heard  of  ole  Jayhu  be- 
fore? "  said  he  with  another  apologetic  cough.  "  I  thought  I'd 
never  seed  ye.  It's  not  often  Jayhu  Brown  forgits  a  man  he's 
once  sot  his  e^es  on,  or  his  name  either;  an'  I  couldn't  make 
out  that  I'd  ever  run  across  yours,  though  them  prisoners  was 
that  thin  an'  wasted  that  the  best  man  niiaht  forefit  to  maka 


28  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

'om  out  arter  they'd  hed  a  few  months  of  full  feed."  lid 
coughed  again,  a  sort  of  chuckling  hack,  which  seemed  to  take 
the  place  of  laughter  with  him. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  bad  health,  Mr.  Brown,"  remarked  the 
colonel,  alluding  to  his  cough. 

"Wal,  not  partickelar,"  answered  Brown.  "[Hack,  hack.] 
I  never  was  very  stout,  though  I've  managed  to  pull  through 
as  many  close  places  as  most  men.  That  was  a  monstrous  close 
time  going  with  them  ar  fellows  from  Salisbury.  [Hack, 
hack.]  " 

"AVon't  you  have  a  little  whiskey?"  asked  the  colonel, 
mindful  of  what  constituted  hospitality  in  the  region  where  he 
was. 

"Wal,  now,  Colonel,  it's  mighty  kind  of  you  to  think  on't 
I  don't  keer  ef  I  du  just  drink  the  health  of  an  old  friend  with 
ye.     [Hack,  hack.]  " 

The  orderly  was  called,  glasses  set  out,  and  liquor,  sugar,  and 
water  placed  before  the  old  man. 

"No,  I  thank  ye!"  said  he:  "none  of  them  fixin's  fer  me. 
I  allers  did  like  my  liquor  clar,  —  clar  an'  straight."  And  he 
poured  out  a  brimming  goblet  of  the  fiery  liquid.  "I  never 
drinks  liquor,  as  some  folks  does,  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing; 
but  I  takes  a  full  charge,  an'  means  business.  A  man  at  my 
day  hain't  got  no  time  to  fool  away  mixin'  drinks.  [Hack, 
hack,  hack.]  " 

He  placed  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  as  he  coughed,  with  a 
pathetic  expression  of  countenance  that  suggested  visions  of 
the  churchyard. 

"I  don't  often  drink, — never,  unless  I  need  it,  or  feel  a 
hankerin'  fer  it.  Never  was  drunk  in  my  life,  and  don't  'How 
to  be ;  but  I've  allers  hearn  that  what  was  wuth  doin'  at  all 
was  wuth  doin'  well." 

Again  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  breast  with  that  peculiar, 
hacking  cough,  which  seemed  to  be  an  apology,  chuckle,  or 
explanation,  as  served.  His  tall,  slender  form  and  solemnity 
of  manner  gave  it  a  strange,  almost  ghastly,  effect. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  very  troublesome  cough,  Mr.  Brown," 
said  the  colonel. 


AN  OLD   ''UNIONER.'*  29 

"TVal  [Hack,  hack],  I  reckon,  now,  it  mout  seem  so  to 
ye.  [Hack,  hack.]  But  do  you  know.  Colonel,  it's  jest  about 
the  handiest  thing  I  ever  hed  ?  I've  seen  the  time  I  wouldn't 
take  no  money  fer  that  cough,  —  no  money  !     [Hack,  hack.]  " 

"  How  is  that  ?     I  don't  understand  you,"  said  the  colonel. 

"No,  I  'spect  not.  AVal,  that  ar  cough's  my  exemption- 
papers.     [Hack,  hack,  hack.]  " 

"  Your  '  exemption-papers  ! '     I  am  still  in  the  dark." 

"  Wal,  you  see  [Hack,  hack,  hack,  apologetically],  the  Confed- 
erates used  to  git  a  notion  every  now  and  then  that  nigh  about 
everybody  was  fit  fer  duty  in  the  army,  ye  know  [Hack, 
hack];  an',  among  the  rest,  ole  Jayhu.  [Hack,  hack.]  An' 
them  on  us  that  couldn't  handily  leave  home,  or,  leastways, 
them  that  thought  they  couldn't,  was  mighty  hard  put  up 
for  excuses.  [Hack,  hack.]  An'  I, —  wal,  you  see,  they 
couldn't  never  find  a  Board,  no  matter  who  they  put  on  it,  that 
wouldn't  say  'twas  jest  a  waste  of  transportation  tu  send  a 
man  tu  the  front  in  my  con-di-di-tion.     [Hack,  hack,  hack.]  " 

And  the  old  man  coughed  and  groaned,  and  rolled  his  eyes 
as  if  the  moment  of  dissolution  could  not  be  far  off. 

"  I  never  made  no  complaint,  ye  see  ;  but  they  never  wanted 
to  hear  my  cough,  when  it  was  right  holler,  more'n  once  or 
twice,  before  they  sent  me  home.  [Hack,  hack.]  'Twas  a 
wonder,  they  said  /reryuently,  how  I  lived ;  an'  so  'twas :  but 
I've  managed  to  pull  through  thus  fer,  tollable  peart-like. 
[Hack,  hack,  hack,  chucklingly.]  " 

The  colonel  laughed  heartily  at  this  recital;  and  the  old  man 
hacked  approvingly  at  his  mirth,  but  did  not  show  a  smile. 

"  Some  on  'em,"  he  continued,  "  hez  laid  aside  ther  exemp- 
tion-papers now  thet  the  war's  over ;  but  mine  hez  sarved  me 
so  well,  I  believe  I'll  hang  on  tu  it.  [Hack,  hack.]  It's  been 
right  handy,  an'  may  come  in  play  agin.  They  wasn't  all  ez 
handy  ez  mine.  Thar's  my  neighbor  Mastin,  now :  he  hed  a 
powerful  good  paper;  but  it  was  onhandy,  —  mighty  so.  He 
got  it  up  in  a  hurry ;  but  mine  was  home-made,  an'  no  sort  of 
inconvenience.  Ye  see,  Mastin  was  stout  as  a  b'ar,  —  didn't 
even  look  delicate,  which  is  a  great  help  in  such  a  thing.    But, 


so  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

the  mornin'  of  the  day  that  he  was  ordered  tu  report  fer  ex^ 
amiaation,  he  come  tu  town  with  his  head  tied  up  ez  if  he'd 
hed  the  mullygrubs  fer  a  coou's  age.  [Hack,  hack.]  Every- 
body asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  au'  he  told  'em  he'd 
come  in  tu  git  the  government  doctors  tu  tell  him.  He'd  been 
mighty  bad  off,  he  said,  fer  a  long  time,  an'  w^as  tu  pore  to  git 
a  doctor  hisself,  an'  was  mighty  glad  he'd  been  draw'd,  'cause 
he  'llowed  he'd  git  some  treatment  now,  'thout  payin'  for  it. 
So,  when  they  asked  him  afore  the  Board  what  was  the  matter, 
he  said,  arter  some  fussin',  ez  ef  he  couldn't  hear  good,  that 
'twas  his  ear  was  a-troublin'  him.  An'  one  of  the  doctors 
pulled  off  the  bandages,  an'  dug  about  half  a  bale  o'  cotting 
out;  an',  jest  ez  he  pulled  out  the  last  plug,  he  turned  away  his 
head,  an'  hollered  out,  *  Git  out  o'  here !  yer  head's  rottener 
than  Lazarus  ! '  [Hack,  hack.]  Yer  see,  Mastin's  wife  hed 
dropped  about  half  of  a  bad  egg  inter  his  ear  that  mornin'. 
[Hack,  hack,  hack.]  'Twas  good  papers  enough,  but  onhandy. 
[Hack,  hack.]"* 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  colonel,  when  he  could  subdue 
his  laughter. 

"But  they  wasn't  all  so,"  continued  the  old  man.  "That 
man  you  hed  in  here  this  mornin',  an'  sent  off  so  unceremonious, 
he  had  some  mighty  good  papers;  but  I  see  he's  laid  'em  aside, 
an'  that  perhaps  is  the  reason  he's  in  the  guard-house  now." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  Not  Colonel  Vaughn ! "  said  the 
colonel. 

"  Thet's  what  he  calls  himself ;  but  we  mostly  calls  him  '  Zeke 
Vaughn,'  or  more  ginerally  jist  '  Zeke,'  or  'hoUerin'  Zeke.' " 

"  What  did  he  want  of  exemption-papers?  " 

"Wal,  —  mostly  for  the  same  purpose  we  all  on  us  did,  I 
reckon  I  " 

"Why,  I  thought  he  was  an  original  Secesh,  a  regular  fire- 
eater  ! " 

"  So  he  was  at  the   start,  an'  in  fact  all  the  way  through 

*  The  questionable  taste  of  this  anecdote  must  be  admitted ;  but  the  story  is 
genuine  and  true,  and  is  here  given  because  so  thoroughly  characteristic  of  the 
time,  place,  and  people. 


AN  OLD  "  UNTONER.'"  81 

jvhen  it  was  a  question  of  talkiu' only ;  but  when  it  come  to 
fightin'  he  wa'n't  fire-eater  enough  to  want  to  deprive  any  one 
else  of  a  fair  show  of  the  fire.  [Hack,  hack.]  So  he  got  on 
two  sticks  in  the  spring  of  sixty-two,  an'  hain't  been  off  'em 
sence,  except  to  go  to  bed,  till  last  week  he  went  out  on  his  legs 
into  old  Polly  Richardson's  field  to  keep  the  Yankees  from 
gobblin'  him  up." 

"  He  hasn't  been  in  the  army,  then?  " 

"Been  in  the  army!  Why,  bless  yer  soul!  he  hasn't  seen  a 
Yankee,  alive  or  dead,  since  the  thing  begun,  till  he  seed  you  ; 
an'  ef  you  treat  him  ez  you  hev  to-day  he's  not  like  tu  die  tu 
git  a  sight  of  ye  agin." 

"  But  isn't  he  a  colonel  ?  " 

"  Wal,  —  not  much,  tu  hurt.     [Hack,  hack]  " 

"  Then  how  did  he  get  the  title  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  hard  tellin',  Mister  !  " 

"  A  militia  colonel,  I  suppose." 

"I  doubt  it.  Never  heard  on't,  ef  he  was.  I  think  he  jest 
picked  it  up  ez  about  ten  thousand  more  in  the  State  hez.  Got 
it  by  registerin'  hisself  ez  sech  at  hotels,  an'  givin'  fellers  a 
drink  tu  holler  fer  '  Colonel  Vaughn  '  at  perlitical  meetin's,  an' 
then  answerin'  tu  the  call." 

"  Well,  what  was  his  exemption- paper,  as  you  call  it?  " 

"  Oh !  he  jest  hobbled  around  on  two  sticks,  pretendin'  tu  be 
the  worst  drawd-up  man  with  rheumatiz  you  ever  seed,  till 
you  uns  come.     You  served  him  right,  an'  I  w^as  glad  on't." 

In  the  afternoon  several  of  the  leading  citizens  of  the  town 
dropped  in,  and  confirmed  indirectly  the  old  TJnioner's  report 
in  regard  to  the  doughty  colonel.  They  said  he  was  loud- 
mouthed and  imprudent ;  but  there  was  not  a  bit  of  harm  in 
him,  and  he  was  very  much  of  a  gentleman,  and  of  a  most 
respectable  family. 

So,  towards  night,  he  sent  an  order  for  the  prisoner's  release, 
accompanied  by  this  note  addressed  to  him  :  — 

"Sir,  — Having  learned  the  origin  of  your  title,  I  have  ordered 
j'our  release,  and  beg  to  say  that  the  government  of  the  United 


32  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

States  does  not  consider  any  parole  necessary  in  your  case.    You  ara 
therefore  at  liberty  to  go  anj^where  yon  choose. 
"Respectfully, 

"  Comfort  Servosse, 
"  Colonel  commanding  Post." 

The  colonel  supposed  he  had  seen  the  last  of  "  Colonel " 
Vaughn :  but  in  this  he  reckoned  without  the  "  colonel ;  "  for 
that  worthy  at  once  attached  himself  to  his  headquarters  as  a 
sort  of  supernumerary  orderly  and  chief  volunteer  adviser  of 
the  young  officer.  He  managed  to  get  a  fine  team,  and  mad- 
himself  indispensable  in  planning  and  executing  the  dail^ 
drives  into  the  surrounding  country,  which  the  colonel  and  his 
officers  so  much  enjoyed  as  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  restraints 
of  a  long  and  arduous  campaign.  He  was  a  man  of  great 
local  knowledge,  and  a  sort  of  good-natured  persistency,  which 
induced  the  impression  that  he  was  nothing  worse  than  a  well- 
meaning  bore,  who  was  to  be  endured  at  all  times  for  the  sake 
of  his  occasional  usefulness  and  universal  cheerfulness. 

Among  other  things  talked  of  in  these  drives  had  been  the 
subject  of  Northern  immigration,  the  revival  of  business,  and 
the  re-organization  of  labor.  On  such  occasions  Vaughn  had 
always  clamorously  contended  that  what  the  subjugated  section 
most  required  was  Northern  capital.  Northern  energy,  and 
Northern  men  to  put  it  again  on  the  high  road  to  prosperity. 

In  one  of  their  drives  they  had  often  passed  a  plantation 
known  as  the  "Warrington  Place,"  which  had  particularly  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  our  Fool,  and  he  had  frequently  ex- 
•pressed  his  admiration  for  it.  Indeed,  he  had  more  than  once 
ridden  over  the  grounds,  and  examined  the  premises  with  that 
air  of  remonstrant  anger  at  its  neglected  state  which  betrays 
the  incipient  interest  of  the  would-be  owner.  This  fact  had 
not  been  unnoted  by  the  observant  Vaughn  ;  and  he  had  deter- 
mined, if  possible,  to  coin  an  honest  penny  out  of  the  young 
colonel's  admiration.  He  was  a  keen  observer  of  human 
nature,  and  knew  that  it  would  not  do  to  flush  his  game  too 
quickly.  He  reasoned  rightly,  that,  when  the  freshness  of  his 
return  to  old  associations  had  worn  away,  the  young  man's  mind 


«  THEIR  EXITS  AND  THEIR  ENTRANCES."     33 

would  be  sure  to  recur  with  something  like  longing  to  his  recent 
surroundings.  Xo  active-minded  man  can  settle  down  after 
four  years  of  war  to  the  every-day  life  of  former  years,  without 
more  than  one  twinge  of  restlessness  and  vague  regret  for  the 
time  when  "■  boots  and  saddles  "  ushered  in  the  ever-changing 
days. 

The  months  passed;  and,  as  recorded  in  Chapter  VI.,  our 
Fool  had  returned  to  his  home.  One  day  he  received  a  brief 
letter,  under  date  of  Sept.  1,  1865,  which  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  Dear  Coloxel,  —  The  '  Warrington  Place  '  is  for  sale,  cheap  as 
dirt.  Five  thousand  dollars  cash  will  take  the  whole  place  (six  hun- 
dred acres);  that  is,  five  thousand  dollars  gold.  Our  folks  haven't 
got  to  understand  greenbacks  much  as  yet.  "We  have  had  paper 
money  enough  for  four  years.  This  is  a  grand  chance  for  a  gentle- 
man of  your  stamp.  We  need  just  such.  Northern  men  are  crowd- 
ing in  here  every  day.  One  man  is  putting  up  a  factory,  and  three 
have  opened  stores.  Shall  I  tell  Griswold,  who  has  the  prop- 
erty in  charge,  that  you  will  take  Warrington  ?  I  am  very  anxious 
you  should  have  it.  I  know  it  will  suit  you  so  well.  If  you  don't 
conclude  to  take  it,  let  me  know  at  once,  as  some  other  parties  are 
offering. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Colonel  Ezekiel  Yaughn. 

"P.S.  —  I  can  get  it  on  better  terms  than  anybody  else,  because 
of  my  relations  with  Griswold. 

"E.  V." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  THEIR   EXITS   AND    THEIR   ENTRANCES." 

"Warrington  had  been  the  seat  of  an  old  family  whose 
ancestor,  many  years  before  the  Revolution,  had  erected  the 
usual  double  log-house  (or  "  two-decks-and-a-passage,"  as  it  is 
still  called  in  that  country),  in  the  midst  of  a  charming  oak- 
grove,  upon  a  gently  sloping  hill,  which  rose  in  the  bend  of  as 


34  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

fair  a  stream  as  ever  babbled  over  the  rocks  in  foolish  haste 
towards  the  far-away  sea.  This  log-house  had  in  time  given 
way  to  a  more  pretentious  structure  of  brick ;  the  grove  had 
been  thinned  and  trimmed,  and  avenues  laid  out  in  it ;  and 
the  years  which  had  made  the  house  old  and  damp,  worn  the 
mortar  from  the  bricks,  and  covered  the  cypress  roof  with  a 
carpet  of  moss,  had  added  glory  to  the  forest  monarchs  which 
stood  around  it,  and  stretched,  year  by  year,  their  great  arms 
closer  and  closer  about  it,  as  if  to  hide  its  imperfections,  and 
screen  its  decrepitude  from  the  beholder. 

The  Warringtons  themselves  were  akin  to  some  of  the 
highest  families  in  the  State,  and  so  prided  themselves  upon 
their  opulence  and  position  that  they  became  chary  of  alliances 
with  others.  They  intermarried  until  the  vigor  which  had 
amassed  great  estates  became  weakened,  and  imbecility  and 
vice  succeeded.  The  estates  were  squandered,  the  revenues 
lessened,  and  one  plantation  after  another  absorbed,  until 
finally  AVarrington  itself,  the  family-seat,  went  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  importunate  creditors  half  a  score  of  years  before 
our  story.  Fortunately  (or  unfortunately,  rather,  for  our  Fool) 
the  plantation  fell  into  the  hands  of  an  eccentric  Frenchman, 
a  bachelor  with  an  abundant  fortune,  and  a  taste  for  horticul- 
ture and  pomology.  He  was  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the 
situation,  and  the  quality  of  the  fruits  produced  there;  and 
building  a  neat  lodge  on  one  side  of  the  grounds,  almost  over- 
hanging a  little  waterfall,  which  he  had  improved  until  it 
became  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  the  place,  he  shut  up 
the  great  house,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  cultm-e  of  fruits 
and  flowers  with  a  contented  zeal  which  yielded  marvelous 
i-esults.  All  about  the  central  grove  of  oak  and  hickory  were 
orchards  and  vineyards  of  the  rarest  and  most  luscious  fruits. 
Evergreens  had  been  interspersed  with  deciduous  varieties  in 
the  grove,  and  trees  of  quaint  habit  and  striking  foliage  were 
grouped  here  and  there  through  the  grounds. 

Of  the  plantation  beyond  the  immediate  surroundings  of 
the  house  —  the  six  hundred  acres  of  alternate  hill  and  bottom, 
with  woodland  and  old  field  interspersed  —  he  had  been  less 


''THEIR  EXITS  AND  THEIR  ENTRANCES.''     35 

careful,  having  left  it  in  the  hands  of  an  overseer  to  be  culti- 
vated or  left  idle  as  the  fancy  or  inclination  of  that  worthy 
might  dictate.  All  he  wanted  from  that  portion  of  his  prop- 
erty was,  that  it  should  pay  the  expense  of  its  own  cultivation, 
and  furnish  enough  corn,  meat,  and  forage  to  subsist  himself 
and  the  two  "boys"  (slaves)  whom  he  kept  to  help  him  in 
his  horticultural  operations,  together  with  the  horses  and 
mules  employed  on  the  plantation.  This  was  easy,  without 
cultivating  more  than  one-half  the  arable  land.  The  overseer 
consequently  reduced  his  cares,  and  accomplished  all  his  em- 
ployer required,  by  "  turning  out "  from  year  to  year  portions 
of  the  plantation,  and  failing  to  "  take  in  "  any  new  ground. 
The  consequence  was  that  when  Mr.  Noyotte  died,  in  the  sec- 
ond year  of  the  war,  the  bulk  of  the  farming-lands  had  grown 
up  into  pine  and  sassafras,  with  rank  sedge-grass  waving  thickly 
between,  and  great  red  gullies  stretching  across  towards  every 
ravine  and  water-course.  The  lands  which  had  been  under 
actual  cultivation  had  become  very  much  worn  and  depreciated 
by  slothful  management,  until  the  hillsides  were  washed,  and 
the  bottoms  filled  with  the  detritus,  to  the  great  detriment  not 
only  of  the  slopes  above,  but  also  of  the  rich  alluvium  be- 
neath. 

The  eccentric  owner  had  died,  so  far  as  was  known,  without 
heirs.  He  had  never  been  a  favorite  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
very  little  was  known  of  his  affairs.  His  housekeeper,  a  quad- 
roon woman,  claimed  his  estate  under  a  will  duly  executed  ; 
but  as  it  was  suggested  that  she  was  a  slave  and  incapable  of 
"  taking "  under  it,  and  as  she  was  unable  to  prove  the  con- 
trary, the  will  was  set  aside,  and  an  administrator  appointed. 
It  was  found  that  the  deceased  had  become  indebted  to  an  ex- 
tent which  his  personal  estate  was  insufficient  to  discharge, 
especially  considering  the  very  low  prices  which  it  brought  at 
the  sale  which  the  administrator  made  for  that  purpose. 

Nearly  every  thing  was  bought  by  Colonel  Vaughn  at  figures 
which  would  have  amazed  one  who  knew  nothing  of  how  such 
matters  may  be  arranged.  It  was  given  out  and  believed  that 
Colonel  Vaughn  had  been  authorized,  by  a  letter  which  had 


36  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

passed  the  blockade,  to  represent  the  heirs  of  the  deceased,  — 
Dephe^YS  and  nieces  who  lived  in  France,  —  and  that  he  was 
buying  in  the  property  just  to  hold  for  them.  Therefore,  when 
likely  negro  slaves  were  bid  off  by  Colonel  Vaughn  for  fifty 
dollars  apiece  in  Confederate  money,  every  one  said  it  was  all 
right,  and  there  was  no  counter-bidding.  The  administrator 
made  his  report  of  sales,  and,  there  being  a  deficiency  of  assets, 
obtained  an  order  to  sell  the  lauds,  which  he  was  authorized  to 
do  either  at  public  or  private  sale. 

Less  than  ten  dollars  an  acre  for  such  a  plantation  seemed 
to  the  Fool,  who  was  accustomed  to  the  high  prices  of  land  at 
the  Xorth,  extravagantly  cheap,  —  as  perhaps  it  was  in  the 
abstract.  He  did  not  know  that  in  its  palmiest  days  the  plan- 
tation would  never  have  brought  that  price  at  a  cash  sale; 
while  its  condition  had  so  deteriorated,  that,  by  the  same  scale 
of  prices,  it  would  now  hardly  have  been  worth  more  than  half 
that  sum  :  besides  which,  the  deleterious  effects  of  the  war 
upon  the  value  of  all  property  in  that  region  were  hardly  to  be 
estimated.  Of  all  this  he  took  no  account.  He  answered  at 
once  that  Colonel  Vaughn  might  take  the  property  at  the  price 
named,  if  he  could  get  a  good  title.  Of  that  he  wished  to  be 
sure.  Then  there  came  an  abstract  of  title  from  an  attorney  of 
the  highest  repute,  as  he  well  knew,  and  with  it  this  note :  — 

"  Griswold  was  anxious  to  sell  :  so  I  bought,  knowing  that  you 
would  be  sure  to  take  the  place  when  satisfied  of  the  title,  as  you 
will  he  when  j-ou  read  this.  I  got  it  a  trifle  below  the  price  I  named 
to  you;  and  you  can  have  it  for  what  I  paid,  any  time  within  two 
months. 

"  COLOXEL  EZEKIEL   VaUGHX." 

So  the  Fool  sold  his  pretty  home,  packed  up  his  household 
idols,  took  his  wife  and  little  daughter,  and  went  to  seek 
health,  happiness,  and  fortune  in  Dixie.  The  trade  which  had 
been  initiated  by  the  persistent  Vaughn  was  duly  consum- 
mated, and  Comfort  Servosse  became  the  owner  in  fee  of  the 
family-seat  of  the  AVarringtons.  It  took  almost  all  of  his  little 
fortune  to  pay  for  it;  but,  when  he  had  done  so,  he  felt  that  he 
had  accomplished  a  good  work.     He  had  made  a  fair  bargain, 


THE  NEW  KINGDOM.  37 

and  had  now  a  basis  for  future  happiness  and  prosperity ;  and  for 
this  he  felt  himself  under  some  obligation  to  Colonel  Vaughn, 
and  came  to  the  conclusion,  that,  if  that  worthy  was  not  gifted 
with  a  stomach  for  fight,  he  was  at  all  events  a  good-hearted^ 
obliging  fellow.  It  was  not  till  afterwards  that  he  found  out 
how  many  prices  he  had  paid  ;  for,  when  the  heirs  of  ^Ir,  Noy- 
otte  —  the  nephews  and  nieces  in  France  —  sent  over  to  reclaim 
the  residue  of  the  property  in  the  hands  of  the  administrator,  it 
appeared  from  the  record  that  the  land  had  been  sold  privately 
to  Colonel  Vaughn  in  1863,  and  that  there  had  been  received 
in  payment  thereof  a  certain  amount  of  Confederate  money, 
which  was  duly  filed  by  the  administrator,  and  reported  by 
him  as  having  been  Tost  by  the  events  of  the  war. 

But  these  things  were  unknown  to  the  Fool  for  several  years ; 
and  Warrington  came  into  his  hands  a  new  toy,  unsmutched 
by  any  suspicion  that  he  had  paid  too  much  for  his  whistle. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   NEW  KINGDOM. 

Why  attempt  to  paint  the  delights  of  that  first  winter  at 
Warrington  ? 

Upon  examining  the  place,  it  was  found  that  the  French- 
man's lodge  had  been  used  for  purposes  which  prevented  its 
present  occupation  as  a  dwelling,  and  they  were  forced  to  go 
into  the  old  brick  mansion.  It  needed  much  repairing,  and  at 
the  best  was  worth  more  to  look  at  than  to  occupy.  Yet  there 
was  a  certain  charm  about  the  great  rooms,  with  their  yawning 
fireplaces  and  dingy  ceilings.  Transportation  was  yet  defec- 
tive ;  and  it  was  long  before  their  furniture  could  arrive  over 
railroads,  worn  and  old,  which  had  been  the  object  of  attack  by 
both  armies  at  different  periods  of  the  war. 

It  was  the  middle  of  October  when  they  entered  upon  their 


38  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

new  possession  ;  and  all  was  so  new  and  so  lovely  to  Metta  and 
the  little  Lily,  that  no  lack  of  creature-comforts  could  have 
checked  their  enthusiasm.  The  balmy  air,  the  unfamiliar 
landscape,  the  strange  sense  of  isolation  which  always  marks 
the  Southern  plantation  life,  and,  above  all,  the  presence  of  the 
husband  and  father  who  had  been  absent  so  long,  all  united 
to  make  them  superlatively  happy. 

i\Ietta  rode  with  her  husband  all  over  the  country,  whose 
strange  irregularity  became  every  day  more  pleasing  to  them, 
— through  the  thick  woods  along  the  bridle-path,  where  the 
ground  was  covered  with  autumn  foliage  which  had  fallen  from 
ripeness  rather  than  from  the  effects  of  frost;  past  the  little 
country  farm-houses  and  the  seats  of  wealthy  planters ;  fording 
rivers,  and  crossing  rude  ferries ;  every  one  whom  they  met, 
whether  of  high  or  low  degree  or  of  whatever  race,  having 
something  about  him  which  was  new  and  strange  to  one  of 
Northern  birth  and  education. 

A  letter  which  Metta  wrote  to  her  sister  shortly  after  they 
arrived  will  show  the  feelings  of  the  young  wife  :  — 

"My  dear  Julia, —  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  better  employ  a 
few  hours  of  Thanksgiving  Day  than  in  writing  you  the  promised 
letter  of  our  new  home  and  our  journey  here.  While  you  are  shiv- 
ering with  cold,  i^erhaps  looking  out  upon  ice  and  snow,  I  am  sitting 
upon  a  little  veranda,  over  which  clambers  a  rose- vine  still  wreathed 
vvath  buds  and  blossoms.  There  has  been  a  slight  frost;  and  those 
on  the  outside  are  v/ithered,  but  those  within  are  yet  as  fresh  as  if 
it  were  but  June.  The  sun  shines  warmly  in,  and  every  thing  with- 
out is  touched  with  that  delicious  haziness  which  characterizes  the 
few  peculiar  autumn  days  of  the  North  that  we  call  Indian  summer. 
There  is  the  same  soft,  dreamy  languor,  and  the  same  sense  of  infinite 
distance  around  us. 

"  Every  body  and  everything  is  new  to  us;  that  is,  to  Lily  and 
me.  Comfort's  four  years  of  soldier-life  made  him  very  familiar 
with  similar  scenes;  and,  I  doubt  not,  a  large  part  of  our  enjoyment 
comes  from  having  him  to  explain  all  these  wonders  to  us. 

"  It  did  seem  terribly  lonelj"  and  desolate  when  we  first  arrived. 
V'ou  know  Comfort  had  come  before,  and  completed  the  purchase, 
and  made  some  preparations  for  our  reception ;  that  is,  he  had  en- 
gaged somebody  to  make  the  i)reparatious,  and  then  returned  for  us. 


THE  NEW  KINGDOM.  39 

"^Ve  had  a  fearful  journey,  —  rough  seas  and  rickety  boats,  a  rough 
country,  and  railroads  which  seemed  to  lack  all  that  we  have  con- 
sidered the  essentials  of  such  structures.  The  rails  were  worn  and 
broken,  the  cross-ties  sunken  and  decayed;  while  every  now  and 
then  we  would  see  where  some  raiding  party  had  heated  the  rails, 
and  twisted  them  around  trees,  and  their  i^laces  had  been  supi^lied 
with  old  rusty  pieces  taken  from  some  less  important  track.  Com- 
fort said  he  believed  they  would  run  the  train  on  '  the  right  of  way ' 
alone  pretty  soon.  All  through  the  country  were  the  marks  of  war, 
—  forts  and  earthworks  and  stockades.  Army-wagons,  ambulances! 
and  mules  are  scattered  everywhere,  and  seem  to  be  about  all  the 
means  of  transportation  that  are  left.  The  poor  Confederacy  must 
have  been  on  its  last  legs  when  it  gave  up. 

"  The  last  twelve  hours  of  the  trip  it  rained,  —rained  as  you  never 
saw  it,  as  I  think  it  never  can  rain  except  in  this  climate.  To  say  that 
it  poured,  would  give  you  but  a  faint  idea  of  it.  It  did  not  beat  or 
blow:  there  was  not  a  particle  of  storm,  or  any  thing  like  excitement 
or  exertion  about  it.  It  only  fell  —  steadily,  quietly,  and  uninter^ 
ruptedly.  It  seemed  as  if  the  dull,  heavy  atmosphere  were  shut  in 
by  an  impenetrable  canopy  of  clouds,  and  laden  with  an  exhaustless 
amount  of  water,  just  sufficiently  condensed  to  fall.  There  was  no 
patter,  but  one  ceaseless  sound  of  falling  water,  almost  like  the 
sheet  of  a  cascade  in  its  weight  and  monotony,  on  the  roof  of  the 
old  leaky  car.  In  the  midst  of  this  rain,  at  midnight,  we  reached 
the  station  nearest  to  Warrington.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  pretty  little  town 
of  two  thousand  or  so  inhabitants;  but  it  was  as  dark  as  the  cata- 
combs, and  as  quiet,  save  for  the  rain  falling,  falling  everywhere, 
without  intermission.  The  conductor  said  there  was  a  good  hotel, 
if  we  could  get  to  it;  but  tbere  was  no  vehicle  of  any  kind,  and  no 
light  at  the  station  except  tlie  conductor's  lantern,  and  a  tallow  can- 
dle flickering  in  the  little  station-house. 

"  Comfort  got  our  baggage  off,  and  stored  in  the  station-house, 
after  a  deal  of  trouble;  and  with  bags  and  boxes  on  our  arms,  and 
muffled  up  to  the  chin  to  keep  out  the  rain  (which  seemed  to  come 
through  an  umbrella  as  if  it  scorned  such  an  attempt  to  divert  it 
from  its  course),  we  started  for  the  hotel  under  the  pilotage  of  the 
conductor  with  his  lantern.  Such  a  walk  !  As  Comfort  helped  me 
out  of  the  car,  he  said,  'It's  fearfully  muddy.'  He  need  not  have 
said  it.  Already  I  was  sinking,  sinking,  into  the  soft,  tenacious  mass. 
Rubbers  were  of  no  avail,  nor  yet  the  high  shoes  I  had  put  on  in 
order  to  be  expressly  prepared  for  whatever  might  await  me.  1 
began  to  fear  quicksand;  and,  if  you  had  seen  my  clothing  the  next 
morniBg,  you  would  not  have  wondered.    Luckily  it  was  dark,  and 


40  A   FOOrS  ERRAND, 

no  one  can  ever  more  than  guess  what  a  drabbled  procession  we 
made  that  night. 

"  And  then  the  hotel;  but  I  spare  you  that !  Lily  cried  herself  to 
sleep,  and  I  came  very  near  it. 

"  The  next  morning  the  earth  was  as  bright  and  smiling  as  if  a 
deluge  had  not  passed  over  it  a  few  hours  before.  Comfort  was  all 
impatience  to  get  out  to  Warrington,  and  we  were  as  anxious  to 
leave  that  horrible  hotel.  So  he  got  an  ambulance,  and  we  started. 
He  said  he  had  no  doubt  our  goods  were  already  there,  as  they  had 
been  sent  on  three  weeks  before,  and  he  had  arranged  with  a  party 
to  take  them  out  to  the  plantation.  At  least,  he  said,  we  could  not 
be  worse  off  than  we  were  at  that  wretched  hotel,  in  which  I  fully 
agreed  with  him;  but  he  did  not  know  what  was  in  store  for  us  ! 

"  Warrington  is  only  six  miles  from  the  station  ;  but  we  were 
two  mortal  hours  in  getting  there  with  our  trunks  and  the  boxes  we 
had  brought  with  us.  Think  of  riding  through  mud  almost  as  red  as 
blood,  as  sticky  as  pitch,  and  "  deeper  than  plummet  ever  told,"  for 
two  hours,  after  an  almost  sleepless  night  and  a  weary  journey  of 
seven  days,  and  you  may  faintly  guess  with  what  feelings  I  came  to 
Warrington.  As  we  drove  up  the  avenue  under  the  grand  old  oaks, 
just  ripening  into  a  staid  and  sober  brown,  interspersed  with  hicko- 
ries which  were  one  blaze  of  gold  from  the  lowest  to  the  topmost 
branch,  and  saw  the  gray  squirrels  (which  the  former  owner  would 
not  allow  to  be  killed,  and  no  one  had  had  time  to  kill  since)  playing 
about,  and  the  great  brick  house  standing  in  silent  grandeur  amid 
this  mimic  forest,  I  could  have  kissed  the  trees,  the  squirrels,  the 
weather-beaten  porch,  the  muddy  earth  itself,  with  joy.  It  was 
home,  —  rest.  Comfort  saw  the  tears  in  my  eyes,  the  first  which  I 
had  shed  in  it  all,  and  said  tenderly, — 

"  '  There,  there  !     It's  almost  over ! '  as  if  I  had  been  a  tired  baby. 

"  Lily  was  in  rapture  over  the  beauties  of  the  old  place,  as  indeed 
she  had  good  right  to  be;  but  I  was  tired.  I  wanted  rest.  We  drove 
to  the  house,  and  found  it  empty,  —  desolate.  The  doors  were  open; 
the  water  had  run  across  the  hall;  and  every  thing  was  so  barren, 
that  I  could  only  sit  down  and  cry.  After  some  trouble  Comfort 
found  the  man  who  was  to  have  made  the  repairs,  and  brought  out 
the  goods.  He  said  the  goods  had  not  come,  and  he  'Ho wed  there 
wa'n't  no  use  fixin'  things  till  they  come. 

"  Comfort  sent  the  ambulance  which  brought  us  out  to  go  back 
and  get  some  provisions,  a  few  cooking  utensils,  and  some  other 
absolute  necessities.  A  colored  woman  was  found,  who  came  in, 
and,  with  the  many  willing  hands  which  she  soon  summoned  to  her 
aid,  made  the  old  house  (or  one  room  of  it)  quite  cozy.    Our  things 


THE  NEW  KINGDOM.  41 

have  been  coming  by  piecemeal  ever  since,  and  vre  are  now  quite 
comfortable. 

' '  Comfort  has  bought  me  a  riding-horse,  —  a  beautiful  blooded  bay 
mare;  and  he  has  his  old  war-horse,  Lollard,  which  he  had  left  in 
this  vicinity  with  an  old  man  named  Jehu  Brown,  — who,  by  the 
way,  is  a  *  character,'  —  having  an  impression  that  we  might  come 
here.  So  we  ride  a  great  deal.  The  roads  are  so  rough  that  it  is 
difficult  to  get  about  in  any  other  way;  and  it  is  just  delightful  riding 
through  the  wood-paths,  and  the  curious  crooked  country  roads,  by 
day  or  night. 

"  The  people  here  seem  very  kind  and  attentive.  A  good  many 
gentlemen  have  called  to  see  Comfort.  They  are  all  colonels  or 
squires,  and  very  agreeable,  pleasant  men.  A  few  ladies  have  called 
on  me,  — always  with  their  husbands  though;  and  I  think  they  are 
inclined  to  be  less  gracious  in  their  manner,  and  not  so  cordial  in 
their  welcome,  as  the.gentlemen.  I  notice  that  none  of  them  have 
been  very  pressing  in  their  invitations  for  us  to  return  their  courtesy. 
Comfort  says  it  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at,  but  that  we  ought 
rather  to  be  surprised  and  pleased  that  they  came  at  all;  and  I  do 
not  know  but  he  is  right. 

"  Two  or  three  countrymen  came  to  see  Comfort  a  few  days  after 
our  arrival.  They  were  all  '  misters,'  not  '  colonels  '  and  '  squires.' 
They  said  they  were  Union  men;  and  it  was  wonderfully  interesting 
to  hear  them  tell,  in  their  quaint  provincialisms,  what  happened  to 
them  during  the  war. 

"  We  rode  out  to  see  one  of  them  afterwards,  and  found  him  a 
thrifty  farmer,  with  four  or  five  hundred  acres  of  good  land,  living 
in  a  log-house,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  plainness  and  plenty  about 
him.  Somehow  I  think  T  shall  like  this  class  of  people  better  than 
the  other,- though  they  are  rough  and  plain,  —  they  seem  so  very 
good-hearted  and  honest. 

"  ^Ve  are  going  to  have  the  teachers  from  the  colored  school  at 
Verdenton  here  to  dinner  to-day  to  keep  Thanksgiving.  There  are 
some  half-dozen  of  them,  —  all  Northern  girls.  I  have  not  met  them  ; 
but  Comfort  says  they  are  very  pleasant  ladies.  Of  course  they 
have  no  society  except  a  few  Northern  people;  and  he  has  gone  to 
bring  them  out  to  give  them  a  treat  as  well  as  ourselves,  I  suppose. 
"  Yours  ever,  with  love  to  all, 

"  Metta." 


42  A   FOOrS  ERRAND, 


CHAPTER  X. 

POOR   TRAY. 

The  next  letter  was  during  the  week  which  succeeded  Christ- 
mas Day,  and  explains  itself  :  — 

"My  dear  Julia, —My  last  letter  to  you  was  written  while  I 
•was  waiting  for  the  young  ladies,  who  are  teaching  at  Verdenton, 
to  come  and  share  our  Thanksgiving  dinner.  That  was  a  momentous 
day  for  us,  and  that  dinner  a  most  important  affair.  "We  were  a 
little  short  of  some  things  necessary  for  such  an  occasion;  but  we 
pieced  and  fitted,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  willing  hands  of  many 
colored  girls  (you  must  remember  that  all  colored  women  are 
'girls'),  we  made  out  to  spread  a  very  respectable  table.  Com- 
fort had  gone  into  town  early  with  my  little  bridle-wise  mare  Jaca, 
in  leading  for  one  of  the  young  ladies  to  ride;  and  the  ambulance 
followed  for  the  others.  Just  as  my  letter  was  finished,  they  all 
came  up  the  avenue  to  the  house;  and  a  merrier  crowd  I  am  sure  I 
never  saw  in  my  life.  Six  sweeter  girls  could  not  be  found.  They 
are  employed  by  the  Missionary  Association  to  teach  in  the  colored 
schools  that  have  sprung  up  all  over  the  South  like  magic,  and  are 
real  '  missionaries '  in  the  very  best  sense  of  the  word.  They  are 
from  six  different  States,  and  never  saw  each  other  until  they  met 
here  at  the  school  in  Verdenton,  and  are  all  cultivated,  refined 
ladies  of  the  best  class  of  our  Northern  people,  who  have  come  here 
simply  to  do  good.  It  was  really  charming  to  see  them,  so  fresh 
and  girlish,  just  from  loving  homes  and  tender  friends,  coming 
away  down  here  on  a  noble  errand,  where  they  are  despised  and 
insulted  for  the  very  good  they  perform.  Only  the  few  Northern 
people  who  are  here  will  have  any  thing  to  do  with  them.  They  are 
as  much  missionaries,  and  have  as  much  to  undergo,  as  if  they  were 
in  Turkey;  indeed  more,  if  our  old  friend  who  is  teaching  in  Beirut 
tells  the  whole  truth  in  regard  to  her  difficulties.  We  had  a  delight- 
ful day;  and  towards  night  both  of  us  returned  with  them,  and 
sending  back  the  ambulance,  and  keeping  only  our  saddle-horses, 
staid  at  the  Mission  House,  as  their  abode  is  called,  until  after  nine 
o'clock;  and  then  Comfort  and  I  rode  home  in  the  moonlight.  I 
don't  think  I  was  ever  happier  in  my  life,  or  felt  that  I  had  been  the 


POOR    TRAY.  43 

cause  of  more  happiness  to  others,  than  on  tliat  day;  and,  when  vr 
knelt  for  our  evening  prayer,  I  did  thank  God  with  all  my  heart 
that  he  had  directed  our  steps  hitherward,  for  I  believe  we  have  a 
blessed  work  to  do,  and  that  our  lives  here  will  not  be  in  vain. 

"  A  few  days  afterward  I  went  to  call  on  some  of  the  ladies  who 
had  visited  me.  It  was  so  far  that  Comfort  went  with  me,  and  I 
persuaded  him  to  let  me  go  on  horseback;  for  it  is  so  unpleasant 
to  ride  in  an  amlnilauce,  which  is  the  only  alternative.  This  would 
not  be  quite  en  regie  at  home,  I  know;  but  here  it  is  a  very  general 
thing,  and  it  is  a  mode  of  traveling  too  delightful  ever  to  be  aban- 
doned. We  called  at  three  houses,  and  were  received  at  all  of  them 
with  a  very  marked  restraint  of  manner,  and  with  positive  rudeness 
in  one  case.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  cry  from  disappointment  and  cha- 
grin. We  wanted  to  be  friendly,  and  avoided  every  subject  of 
conversation  which  could  give  pain;  and  it  seemed  too  bad  to  be 
met  with  such  coolness.  Comfort  tried  to  console  me  as  we  rode 
home;  but  I  could  see  that  he  felt  it  as  well  as  I. 

"  A  day  or  two  after  this.  Squire  Hyman,  who  is  one  of  our  near- 
est neighbors,  though  he  lives  a  mile  away,  came  over  to  see  us. 
He  is  a  queer  old  gossip,  who  is  so  anxious  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  everybody  that  he  has  hard  times  to  keep  anybody  on  his 
side.  During  the  war,  it  seems,  he  played  fast  and  loose;  and  it  is 
amusing  enough  to  hear  Colonel  Vaughn  and  his  Confederate  friends 
caution  us  against  him  as  a  man  who  professed  to  be  '  all  right,' 
but  was  all  the  time  encouraging  deserters  and  harboring  bush- 
whackers; and  then  to  hear  Jehu  Brown,  and  other  known  and  relia- 
ble Unionists,  say, '  He  won't  du  tu  tie  ter.  He  was  always  claimin' 
tu  be  a  powerful  good  Union  man,  an'  at  the  same  time  givin'  in- 
formation agin  any  o'  the  boys  that  was  hidin'  out.' 

"  I  knew  that  he  had  something  'very  particular,'  as  he  says,  to 
tell  the  moment  he  came  into  the  room;  but  it  was  a  long  time  be- 
fore he  could  get  to  it.  I  think  Comfort  suspected  what  it  was,  and 
purposely  led  him  away  from  the  point  he  was  striving  to  reach. 
At  length  he  '  bounced  it  squarely,'  as  the  country-people  hereabout 
say,  with  the  statement,  — 

"  '  I  hear  they've  got  a  powerful  big  school  for  the  —  the  niggers 
as  we  call  them,  —  in  Verdenton.' 

"  *  Oh,  yes  ! '  I  answered  in  all  innocence.  '  We  had  the  young 
ladies  who  are  teaching  there  out  here  to  our  Thanksgiving  dinner, 
and  liked  them  very  much,' 

"  '  Indeed !  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  them,  good  or  bad. 
Of  course  I  hear  a  good  deal  said;  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
Some  folks  make  a  heap  of  fuss  about  every  thing;  but  I'm  one  of 


44  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

them  that  lets  other  folks  alone  if  they  don't  trouble  me.  That's 
right,  ain't  it,  Colonel  ?    He,  he  ! ' 

"  '  I  don't  see  why  there  should  he  any  thing  said  against  these 
young  ladies,'  said  I. 

"  '  Well,'  he  replied,  '  you  know  how  we  Southern  people  are. 
We  have  our  own  notions.'  And  he  winked,  and  chuckled  to  him- 
self; and  I  said  rather  sharply,  — 

"  '  I  don't  see  what  your  notions  have  to  do  with  these  young 
ladies,  who  are  certainly  doing  God's  work  in  teaching  these  poor 
colored  people,  old  and  young.' 

"  '  Oh,  certainly  !  it  would  look  so;  but '  — 

" '  But  what  ? '  said  Comfort  so  markedly  that  the  old  man 
jumped  in  his  seat. 

"*0h—  nothing —  that  is—  nothing  of  account—  only—  you 
know.  Colonel,  we  can't  help  thinking  that  any  one  that  comes  from 
the  North  down  here,  and  associates  with  niggers —  can't —  well  — 
can't  be  of  much  account  at  home.' 

"  *  And  you  call  teaching  colored  people  associating  with  them  ? ' 
asked  Comfort. 

"  '  Well,  of  course,  in  a  manner,'  answered  the  squire  hesitatingly. 

*'  *  And  you  doubtless  think  it  disreputable  to  associate  with  such 
teachers  ? ' 

"  *  Well,  Colonel,  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it.  I  didn't  want  to 
broach  it  myself,  being  a  delicate  subject,  you  know;  but  it  is  so 
counted —  by —  the  best  society,  you  know.' 

"  *  So  you  came  to  warn  us  that  if  we  continue  to  associate  with 
these  teachers  we  must  forego  the  pleasures  of  good  society  here- 
abouts ? ' 

**  *  Well,  I  had  heard  remarks,  you  know.  I  name  no  names;  but 
I  thought  it  would  be  no  more  than  neighborly,  being  as  you  were 
strangers  as  I  may  say,  and  not  accustomed  to  our  ways,  to  let  you 
know,  so  that  you  might  be  careful  in  the  future.' 

"  '  Thank  you.  We  are  certainly  under  many  obligations  to  you 
for  letting  us  know  whom  we  are  to  be  permitted  to  associate  with, 
and  whom  not.' 

"  *  Oh,  not  at  all !  not  at  all !  I'm  sure  it's  no  more  than  I  would 
do  for  any  neighbor,'  said  the  squire  with  an  air  of  gratified  vanity. 

" '  Certainly  not.  Squire,'  said  Comfort  sarcastically,  —  and  I  knew 
from  the  flashing  of  his  eyes  that  some  one  would  get  a  shot, — 
'certainly  not;  and  it  is  my  confidence  in  your  neighborly  inclina- 
tion which  makes  me  presume  to  ask  a  favor  at  your  hands.' 

"  '  Any  thing  in  the  world  that  I  can  do,  sir.  I'm  sure  I  shall  be 
proud  to  serve  you,'  said  the  squire  with  marked  enthusiasm. 


POOR   TRAY.  45 

"  'Then,  Squire,  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would  say  to  these  good 
people  who  have  undertaken  to  regulate  our  associations,  that  I 
bought  this  property,  paid  for  it  cash  down,  and  am  quite  capable 
of  regulating  my  own  affairs  without  their  aid.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  '  said  the  squire,  starting  from  his  seat, 
white  with  rage.     *  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? ' 

"  *  I  mean,'  said  Comfort  quietly,  '  to  say  that  the  ladies  who  are 
teaching  in  the  colored  school  at  Verdenton  are  ladies  of  character 
and  culture,  fit  associates  for  my  wife,  and  fully  the  equals  of  any 
lady  in  the  State.  I  desire  to  say  further,  that,  regarding  them  as 
such,  if  it  comes  to  a  choice  between  ostracizing  them  simply  be- 
cause of  the  good  work  in  which  they  are  engaged,  and  losing  the 
approval  of  the  first  families  of  Verdenton  and  vicinity,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly choose  the  latter.' 

"'"Well —  of  course,"  said  the  squire,  somewhat  staggered  by 
this  view  of  the  matter,  '  of  course  you  have  a  right  to  your  own 
way.  I  meant  no  harm,  not  the  least  in  the  world.  Good-evening, 
sir  !  Good-evening,  Madam  ! '  And  he  was  gone  to  do  the  errand  at 
Comfort's  bidding. 

"  Colonel  Vaughn  came  the  next  day  upon  the  same  errand.  I  did 
not  hear  the  conversation  he  had  with  Comfort ;  but  he  talked  very 
loud,  and  I  suppose  was  answered  much  as  the  squire  had  been.  I 
heard  Comfort  say  to  him,  just  as  he  was  lea^-ing,  — 

"  '  I  fought  four  years,  sir,  for  the  privilege  of  living  under  the 
flag  of  the  United  States  with  all  the  rights  of  a  citizen  in  any  part 
of  the  Union,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  permit  anybody  to  dictate  my 
conduct  towards  anybody  else.' 

"*If  your  family  associate  with  nigger  teachers,  you  can  not 
expect  respectable  people  to  recognize  them  as  associates.' 

"  '  "We  do  not  ask  anybody  to  associate  with  us,  sir.  TTe  are  not 
suppliants  for  recognition.  If  people  desire  our  friendship,  we  are 
frank  and  outspoken,  pretending  to  nothing  more  than  we  are,  and 
accepting  others  as  we  find  them.  If  they  do  not  wish  to  associate 
with  us,  we  do  not  complain,  and  are  not  likely  to  mourn.' 

"The  colonel,  as  he  calls  himself,  went  away  in  high  dudgeon; 
and  the  next  week  the  paper  published  at  Verdenton  had  a  dirty 
little  squib  in  regard  to  the  matter,  which  I  send  you. 

["  It  read  as  follows:  — 

"  '  Our  readers  will  regret  to  learn  that  the  Canadian  Yankee  Servosse,  who 
has  bought  the  Warrington  Place,  is  one  of  those  fanatical  abolitionists  whose 
infamous  doctrines  were  the  real  cause  of  all  the  suflFering  and  bloodshed  of  the 
last  four  years.  Our  citizens  had  extended  many  favors  to  him,  and  our  ladies 
had  shown  very  marked  courtesy  to  his  family.    Instead  of  appreciating  theee 


46  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

things,  he  has  chosen  to  slander  our  first  ladies  by  comparing  them  with  the 
nigger  schoolmarms  who  have  come  down  here  to  teach  social  equality  by 
example. 

"  '  We  understand  that  Servosse  had  all  these  free-love  nigger-missionaries  of 
the  female  persuasion  out  at  Warrington  to  celebrate  the  new  Yankee  holiday, 
which  has  been  added  to  the  governmental  calendar  since  the  first  j'ear  of  Lin- 
coln's reign,  called  Thanksgiving  Day.  The  da}'  itself  is  a  relic  of  New-England 
Puritanical  hj-pocrisy,  and,  we  understand,  was  fitly  obsen-ed  at  Warrington, 
where  they  ate  and  drank,  and  sung  "John  Brown,"  "We're  coming,  Father 
Abraham,"  and  similar  melodies.  It  is  said  that  one  of  the  "  N.  T's."  became  so 
full  of  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  that  she  kissed  one  of  the  colored  boys  who 
waited  at  the  table.  Colonel  Servosse  cannot  expect  his  family  to  be  recognized 
by  respectable  people  if  he  chooses  such  associates  for  them.'] 

"  Did  5'ou  ever  see  any  thing  so  mean  ?  Of  course  we  don't  care 
any  thing  about  it:  only  one  likes  to  live  peaceably  with  one's  neigh- 
bors if  possible.  Comfort  was  very  much  exasperated  when  he  first 
saw  this,  and  went  into  town  in  a  very  angry  mood.  I  don't  know 
what  he  did ;  but  the  next  week  there  was  a  very  abject  apology  in 
the  paper.  It  made  a  great  excitement  though,  and  even  many  of  the 
colored  people  advised  us  not  to  have  the  teachers  here  any  more. 
('  N.  T.,'  you  know,  is  Southern  euphemism  for  Nigger  Teacher.) 
Of  course  we  paid  no  attention  to  it,  and  will  have  them  here  just  as 
often  as  we  can,  both  to  show  that  we  are  not  moved  by  such  things, 
and  because  they  enjoy  coming  so  much. 

"  Some  time  ago  Comfort  concluded  to  establish  a  sabbath  school 
for  colored  people,  as  there  are  a  great  many  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  no  school  of  any  kind  for  them  nearer  than  Verdenton.  So  he 
consulted  with  some  of  their  leading  men,  and  they  fixed  up  an 
arbor  and  some  seats  in  a  grove  not  far  from  the  house;  and  you 
ought  to  see  what  congregations  gather  there  Sunday  afternoons. 
Two  or  three  white  men  came  in  at  first,  as  if  to  see  what  would  be 
done.  Comfort  asked  them  to  take  classes,  and  help  us  teach 
these  poor  people.  One  old  man  with  long,  white  hair,  strange,  dark 
eyes,  and  a  mild,  soft  voice,  came  forward,  and  said  that  it  was  a 
good  work,  and  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  put  it  into  the  mind  of 
this  new  neighbor  to  do  it;  and  he  for  one  would  do  all  in  his  power 
to  assist  him. 

"  The  others  stood  off,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  do  about 
the  matter.  The  old  man's  name  is  George  D.  Garnet.  He  is  of 
Huguenot  descent,  and  belongs  to  a  large  family  in  the  South,  whose 
name  has  been  corrupted  from  its  original  orthography.  He  is  very 
proud  of  his  descent,  and  was  attracted  to  us  by  our  name  being 
also  French.    He  is  a  deacon  of  the  Baptist  church  in  Mayfield, 


POOR   TRAY.  47 

about  twenty  miles  from  here.  He  says  he  has  been  trying  to  get 
his  church  to  take  hold  of  a  colored  sabbath  school  from  the  very 
day  of  the  surrender;  but  they  will  not  hear  him.  He  has  often 
staid  to  tea  with  us,  and  we  find  him  very  entertaining  indeed. 
He  is  very  eccentric,  as  is  evident  from  what  he  says,  and  the  stories 
the  colored  people  tell  of  him.  He  says  he  was  a  slaveholder  who 
thought  slavery  wrong,  — a  *  Virginia  abolitionist,'  as  he  says.  The 
colored  people  say  that  he  used  to  buy  slaves  who  were  anxious  to  be 
free,  and  let  them  work  out  their  freedom.  He  was  not  a  rich  man, 
only  just  a  good  'common  liver,'  as  they  say;  but  in  this  way  he 
bought  and  freed  many  slaves. 

"  The  colored  people  flock  around  us  as  if  they  thought  *  de  Yan- 
kee kunnel '  could  do  every  thing,  and  hire  them  all.  I  think  I 
could  have  a  hundred  housemaids  if  I  would  take  all  that  come  to 
me,  and  Lilian  has  nurses  enough  offered  to  take  charge  of  all  the 
children  in  your  town. 

"  Comfort  has  decided  to  sell  all  of  "Warrington  but  a  hundred 
acres.  The  rest  lies  along  the  creek,  and  is  very  well  fitted  to  cut 
up  into  little  farms  of  ten  and  twenty  acres  for  colored  men,  giving 
them  upland  to  live  on,  with  a  little  timber,  and  a  piece  of  good 
bottom  to  cultivate.  He  is  going  to  put  little  log-houses  on  them, 
and  sell  them  to  colored  people  on  six  or  ten  years'  time.  It  will 
make  quite  a  little  town. 

"  We  hojie  to  do  some  good,  and  trust  that  the  foolish  prejudice 
of  the  people  will  wear  away.  It  is  strange  how  credulous  they  are, 
though.  An  old  country-woman,  who  came  along  with  some  things 
to  sell  the  other  day,  said  she  had  heard  that  the  colonel  had  come 
down  here  to  try  and  '  put  the  niggers  over  the  white  folks,'  and 
wanted  to  know  if  it  was  true  !  She  had  a  snuff-stick  in  her  mouth, 
and  neither  she  nor  her  two  grown  daughters  could  read  or  write  ! 
It  is  wonderful  how  many  there  are  here  who  are  so  ignorant ;  and 
those  who  are  not  ignorant  are  full  of  a  strange  prejudice  against 
all  who  are  not  of  their  own  particular  set,  and  think  and  believe 
just  as  they  do. 

"  There  are  some  reports  of  difiiculties  experienced  by  Northern 
men  in  some  parts  of  the  South  ;  but  we  hope  they  are  exaggerated. 
**  Yours  ever, 

"Metta." 


48  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A   CAT   IX   A   STRANGE    GARRET. 

Servosse  was  very  busy  during  the  winter  and  spring  which 
followed  in  building  the  houses*  referred  to  by  Metta,  and 
laying  out  and  selling  a  large  part  of  his  plantation.  He 
found  the  colored  men  of  the  best  character  and  thrifty  habits, 
anxious  to  buy  lands,  and  no  one  else  was  willing  to  sell  to 
them.  He  purchased  some  Confederate  buildings  which  were 
sold  by  the  government,  tore  them  down,  and,  out  of  the 
materials,  constructed  a  number  of  neat  and  substantial  little 
houses  on  the  lots  which  he  sold.  He  also  assisted  many  of 
them  to  buy  horses,  in  some  instances  buying  for  them,  and 
agreeing  to  take  his  pay  in  grain  and  forage  out  of  the  crops 
they  were  to  raise.  In  the  mean  time  he  gave  a  great  deal  of 
attention  to  the  improvement  of  Warrington,  expecting  to 
reap  his  reward  from  the  thousands  of  fruit-trees  which  Mr. 
Noyotte  had  planted,  and  which  had  grown  to  be  full-bearing, 
in  spite  of  neglect  since  his  death.  These  trees  and  vines 
were  all  carefully  pruned  and  worked;  and  Warrington  assumed 
the  appearance  of  thrift  and  tidiness,  instead  of  the  neglect 
and  decay  which  had  before  been  its  distinguishing  features. 
There  was  some  fault  found  with  the  sales  which  he  made  to 
colored  men,  on  the  gi'ound  that  it  had  a  tendency  to  promote 
'•  nigger  equality ; "  but  he  was  so  good-natured  and  straight- 
forward in  the  matter  that  but  little  was  said,  and  nothing  done 
about  it  at  that  time,  though  he  heard  of  organizations  in 
some  parts  of  the  State  instituted  to  prevent  the  colored  people 
from  buying  land  or  owning  horses. 

The  succeeding  summer  was  well  advanced  when  he  went 
one  day  to  attend  a  political  meeting  which  was  held  in  a  little 
grove  some  seven  miles  from  Warrington.  It  was  a  meeting 
purporting  to  be  called  for  consultation  in  regard  to  the  general 


A    CAT  IN  A   STRANGE   GARRET.  49 

interests  of  the  country.  Eminent  speakers  were  advertised  to 
attend ;  and  Servosse  felt  no  little  curiosity,  both  to  see  such  a 
gathering,  and  to  hear  what  the  speakers  might  have  to  say. 
He  had  never  been  any  thing  of  a  politician,  and  had  no  desire 
or  expectation  of  being  one.  He  rode  to  the  meeting,  which 
he  found  to  be  far  greater  than  he  expected,  not  less  than  a 
thousand  people  having  assembled.  Almost  every  man  came 
on  his  horse  or  on  foot;  and  the  horses  stood  about,  tied  to 
the  lower  limbs  of  the  trees  in  the  grove  where  the  meeting  was 
held.  There  were  many  speeches  of  the  kind  peculiar  to  the 
Southern  stump,  full  of  strong,  hard  hits,  overflowing  with  wit 
and  humor,  and  strongly  seasoned  with  bombast.  Stories  of 
questionable  propriety  were  abundant,  and  personalities  of  the 
broadest  kind  were  indulged  in. 

Serv-osse  sat  among  the  crowd,  enjoying  to  the  utmost  this 
new  experience,  and  wondering  how  people  could  relish  con- 
tending so  hotly  over  each  other's  records  during  and  before 
the  war.  It  all  seemed  to  him  very  amusing.  But,  when  they 
came  to  address  themselves  to  the  future,  he  became  interested 
for  another  reason. 

It  will  be  noted  by  the  reader  who  cares  to  trace  back  a  few 
years  of  memory,  or  consult  the  records  which  have  not  yet 
become  history,  that  this  was  in  the  primary  period  of  what 
has  since  become  memorable  as  the  era  of  "reconstruction." 
The  plan  which  was  then  sought  to  be  put  into  operation  by 
the  Executive*  was  what  has  since  been  known  as  the  "presi- 
dential plan,"  supplemented  by  the  "  Howard  amendment,"  and 
dependent  on  the  adoption  of  that  by  the  different  States  re- 
cently in  rebellion.  The  abolition  of  slavery  by  constitutional 
provision,  the  abjuration  of  the  right  of  secession,  and  the 
repudiation  of  the  Confederate  state-debts  were  the  conditions 
precedent.  Of  course  the  future  status  of  the  freedmen  was 
a  question  of  overwhelming  interest,  though  that  was  left 
entirely  to  the  decision  of  the  various  States. 

It  was  for  the  discussion  of  questions  thus  arising  that  the 
meeting  we  have  now  in  hand  was  called. 

*  Andx'ew  Johnson. 


50  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND, 

The  great  subject  of  contention  between  the  opposing  fac- 
tions was  as  to  wliether  the  recently  freed  people  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  testify  in  courts  of  justice. 

"What!"  said  one  of  the  speakers,  "allow  a  nigger  to 
testify !  allow  him  to  swear  away  your  rights  and  mine ! 
Never!  We  have  been  outraged  and  insulted!  Our  best 
men  have  been  put  under  a  ban ;  but  we  have  not  got  so  low 
as  to  submit  to  that  yet.  Our  rights  are  too  sacred  to  be  put 
at  the  mercy  of  nigger  perjurers !  " 

This  sentiment  seemed  to  meet  with  very  general  indorse- 
ment from  the  assembled  suffragans,  and  more  than  one  burst 
of  applause  greeted  the  speech  of  which  it  was  a  part. 

When  the  meeting  seemed  to  be  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
Servosse  was  considering  the  question  of  going  home,  he  was 
surprised  at  hearing  from  the  rude  stand  the  voice  of  this 
same  orator  addressing  the  assemblage  for  a  second  time,  and 
evidently  making  allusion  to  himself. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "I  see  there  is  a  man  on  the 
ground  who  has  lately  come  among  us  from  one  of  the  North- 
ern States,  who  has  been  here  all  day  listening  to  what  we 
have  said,  whether  as  a  spy  or  a  citizen  I  do  not  know.  It  is 
currently  reported  that  he  has  been  sent  down  here  by  some 
body  of  men  at  the  North  to  assist  in  overturning  our  institu- 
tions, and  putting  the  bottom  rail  on  top.  I  understand  that 
he  is  in  favor  of  social  equality,  nigger  witnesses,  nigger  juries, 
and  nigger  voters.  I  don't  know  these  things,  but  just  hear 
them ;  and  it  may  be  that  I  am  doing  him  inj  ustice.  I  hope  I 
am,  and,  if  so,  that  an  opjjortunity  will  now  be  given  for  him 
to  come  forward  and  deny  them.  If  he  has  come  among  us  as 
a  bona-Jide  citizen,  having  the  interest  of  our  people  at  heart, 
now  is  a  good  time  for  him  to  let  it  be  known.  If  he  has 
come  to  degrade  and  oppress  us,  we  would  like  to  know  what 
reason  he  has  for  such  a  course.  In  any  event  we  would  all 
like  to  hear  from  Colonel  Servosse ;  and  I  move  that  he  be 
invited  to  address  this  meeting." 

Had  a  bombshell  fallen  at  the  Fool's  feet,  it  could  not  have 
amazed  him  more.     He  saw  the  purpose  at  once.     Vaughn  and 


A    CAT  IN  A    STRANGE   GARRET.  51 

several  others,  whom  he  had  reason  to  suppose  had  no  kindly 
feelings  for  him,  were  evidently  the  instigators  of  this  speech. 
They  were  gathering  around  the  orator;  and  no  sooner  had  he 
ceased  speaking  than  they  began  to  shout,  "  Servosse  !  Servosse  ! 
Servosse !  " 

The  chairman  rose,  and  said  something  amid  the  din.  Only 
a  few  words  reached  the  ears  of  Servosse  :  — 

'-  Moved  'nd  sec'n'd  —  Servosse  —  'dress  —  meeting.  Those 
in  favor  —  aye."  There  was  a  storm  of  ayes.  "Opposed  — 
no."  Dead  silence  ;  and  then  a  period  of  quiet,  with  only  an 
occasional  yell  for  "  Servosse  "  from  the  party  of  malignants 
on  the  right  of  the  stand. 

Servosse  shook  his  head  to  the  chairman;  but  the  shouts 
were  redoubled,  and  there  was  a  closing  in  of  the  crowd,  who 
were  evidently  very  curious  as  to  the  result  of  this  call. 

"  Bring  him  on ! "  shouted  Vaughn  to  those  who  stood 
around.  "Bring  him  on!  Let's  hear  from  him !  We  haven't 
heard  a  speech  from  a  Yankee  in  a  long  time." 

"  Servosse  !  Servosse !  Servosse !  "  shouted  the  crowd.  Those 
who  stood  about  him  began  to  crowd  him  towards  the  platform 
in  spite  of  his  protests.  They  were  perfectly  respectful  and 
good-humored;  but  they  were  evidently  determined  to  have 
a  speech  from  their  new  neighbor,  or  else  some  fun  at  his 
expense. 

"Oh,  bring  him  along  T"  cried  Vaughn  from  the  stand. 
"  Don't  keep  him  all  to  yourselves,  gentlemen.  We  can't  hear 
a  word  here.     Give  us  a  chance  !  " 

This  sally  was  greeted  with  a  shout ;  and  Servosse,  still  ex- 
postulating and  excusing  himself,  was  picked  up  by  a  dozen 
strong  arms,  carried  along  between  the  rows  of  seats,  —  rough 
l)ine  boards  laid  upon  logs,  —  and  hoisted  upon  the  platform, 
amid  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  We've  got  him  now,"  he  heard  Vaughn  say  to  his  clique. 
"He's  got  to  make  a  speech,  and  then  Colonel  Johnson  can 
just  give  him  hell  " 

There  was  another  cry  of  "  Speech  !  speech  !  speech  !  " 

Then  the  chairman  called  for  order ;  and  there  was  silence, 


52  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

save  here  and  there  a  dropping  word  of  encouragement  real  or 
mock,  —  "  Speech  1     Go  on !     Give  it  to  'em,  Yank ! "  &c. 

Servosse  had  noticed  that  the  crowd  were  not  all  of  one 
mind.  It  was  true  that  there  was  an  apparent  unanimity, 
because  those  who  dissented  from  the  views  which  had  been 
expressed  were  silent,  and  did  not  show  their  dissent  by  any 
remarks  or  clamor.  He  knew  the  county  was  one  which  had 
been  termed  a  "  Union  county  "  when  the  war  began  ;  and  there 
was  still  a  considerable  element  whose  inclinations  were  against 
the  Rebellion,  and  who  only  looked  back  at  it  as  an  unmitigated 
evil.  They  had  suffered  severely  in  one  form  and  another  by 
its  continuance  and  results,  and  smarted  over  the  sort  of  com- 
pulsive trickery  by  which  the  nation  was  forced  into  the  con- 
flict. He  had  marked  all  these  things  as  the  meeting  had 
progressed;  and  now  that  those  whom  he  recognized  as  his 
enemies  had  succeeded  in  putting  him  in  this  position,  he 
determined  to  face  the  music,  and  not  allow  them  to  gain  any 
advantage  if  he  could  help  it. 

He  shook  himself  together,  therefore,  and  said  good-natured- 

ly,- 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  I  have  heard  that  — 

'  One  man  may  lead  the  pony  to  the  brink, 
But  twenty  thousand  can  not  make  him  drink  !  * 

So,  while  you  have  shown  yourselves  able  to  pick  me  up, 
and  put  me  on  the  platform,  I  defy  you  to  elicit  a  speech, 
unless  you'll  make  one  for  me.  However,  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  putting  me  up  here,  as  those  rough  boards 
without  backs  were  getting  very  hard,  and  I  shall  no  doubt  be 
much  more  comfortable  in  this  chair." 

Whereupon  he  took  a  seat  which  stood  by  the  table  near  the 
chairman,  and  coolly  sat  down.  The  self-possession  displayed 
by  this  movement  struck  the  crowd  favorably,  and  was  greeted 
by  cheers,  laughter,  and  cries  of  "  Good  !  "  *'  That's  so  !  "  and 
other  tokens  of  admiration.  If  it  had  been  the  purpose  of 
those  who  had  started  the  cry  to  press  him  to  an  impromptu 
speech  before  a  crowd  already  excited  by  a  discussion  they 


A    CAT  m  A    STRANGE   GARRET.  53 

knew  to  have  been  in  direct  conflict  with  the  views  he  must 
reasonably  entertain,  in  order  that  he  might  meet  a  rebuff,  he 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  disappoint  them.  Instead  of  making  an 
exasperating  speech  or  an  enjoyable  failure,  he  had  simply 
refused  to  be  drawn  into  the  net  spread  for  him  by  coolly 
asserting  his  right  to  speak  or  keep  silence  as  he  chose.  And 
the  crowd  unmistakably  approved. 

The  chairman,  an  old  gentleman  of  courtly  manner,  whose 
very  appearance  was  a  guaranty  of  his  character,  urbanity, 
and  moderation,  evidently  felt  that  the  new-comer  had  been 
treated  with  rudeness,  and  that  he  had  been  made  the  unwilling 
instrument  of  a  malicious  insult.  It  was  apparent  that  the 
stranger  so  regarded  it,  and  the  chairman  could  not  rest  under 
the  imputation  of  such  impropriety.  So  he  rose,  and,  addressing 
himself  to  the  occupant  of  the  other  chair,  said  courteously, — 

"I  have  not  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance,  sir;  but  I 
presume  you  are  the  gentleman  who  has  been  called  Colonel 
Servosse." 

The  latter  bowed  affirmatively. 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  am  happy  to  know  you,  having  heard  so 
much  to  your  credit  that  I  have  promised  myself  great  pleas- 
ure in  your  acquaintance." 

Servosse  blushed  like  a  boy;  for  there  is  no  class  whoso 
flattery  is  so  overwhelming  as  that  to  which  the  chairman 
belonged,  it  being  united  in  them  with  a  dignity  of  manner 
which  gives  peculiar  force  to  the  lightest  remark. 

"I  am  sure,  sir,"  the  chairman  continued,  "nothing  could 
afford  me  greater  happiness  than  to  hear  your  views  in  regard 
to  our  duty  as  citizens  of  a  common  country  at  this  peculiarly 
trying  period  in  our  history ;  and  I  am  confident  that  such  is 
the  earnest  wi^h  of  this  assemblage.  [Cries  of  "Yes,  yes!"] 
The  manner  in  which  you  have  been  invited  may  seem  to  you 
somewhat  rude,  and  was  certainly  inexcusable,  considering  the 
fact  that  you  are  a  stranger.  I  hope,  however,  that  it  will  not 
have  the  effect  of  preventing  us  from  hearing  your  views.  Seen 
from  your  stand-point,  it  is  to  be  expected  that  present  events 
will  bear  a  different  interpretation  to  what  they  have  when 


54  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

viewed  from  ours ;  but  we  have  met  as  neighbors,  and  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  an  interchange  of  views  will  do  us  good.  I 
hope,  therefore,  that  you  will  permit  me  to  introduce  you  to 
this  audience,  and  that  you  will  make  some  remarks,  if  for 
nothing  else,  to  show  that  you  bear  no  ill  will  for  our  unin- 
tended rudeness." 

Cries  of  "  Servosse !  Servosse !  Colonel  Servosse  ! " 
There  was  no  possible  answer  to  an  apology  and  a  request  so 
deftly  framed  as  this,  except  compliance.  Servosse  perceived 
this,  and,  rising,  gave  his  hand  to  the  chairman,  and  was  by  him 
formally  introduced  to  the  audience.  The  crowd  gathered 
around  the  stand  in  expectant  curiosity ;  and  a  little  group  of 
cojored  men  who  had  hung  en  the  outskirts  of  the  audience  all 
day,  as  if  doubtful  of  their  right  to  be  present,  edged  one  by 
one  nearer  to  the  speaker's  platform.  The  short  terse  sentences 
of  the  new-comer  were  in  very  marked  contrast  to  the  florid 
and  somewhat  labored  style  of  those  who  had  preceded  him. 
It  was  the  earnest  practicality  and  abundant  vitality  of  the 
Korth-West,  compared  with  the  impracticality  and  disputatious 
dogmatism  of  the  South. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

COMPELLED    TO    VOLUNTEER. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  come  here  to  make  a. 
""speech.  I  am  neither  a  speech-maker  nor  a  politician.  Xever 
made  a  political  speech  in  my  life,  and  certainly  am  not  pre- 
pared to  make  a  beginning  to-day,  I  have  bought  a  home 
among  you,  and  cast  my  lot  in  with  you  in  good  faith,  for  good 
or  for  ill.  "Whether  I  have  acted  wisely,  or  have  run  on  a 
fool's  errand  in  so  doing,  is  for  the  future  to  reveal.  I  must 
say,  from  what  I  have  heard,  and  heard  applauded  to  the  echo, 
here  to-day,  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  latter  will  prove  the 


COMPELLED    TO    VOLUNTEER.  55 

true  hypothesis.  Your  chairman  has  intimated  that  my  opin- 
ions may  differ  from  yours;  and,  as -this  fact  seems  to  be  appar- 
ent to  all,  it  is  probably  best,  in  order  that  ^Ye  should  part  good 
friends,  that  I  should  not  tell  you  what  my  views  are." 

Cries  of  "  Yes,  yes  !     Go  on  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  don't  like  my  notions,  remember  that 
you  would  insist  on  my  giving  them.  As  I  said,  I  am  no  poli- 
tician, and  never  expect  to  be.  I  hope  I  have  common  sense, 
though,  and  I  shall  try  to  know  something  of  what  is  going  on 
in  the  world  while  I  am  in  it.  I  don't  want  to  discuss  what  has 
been  done,  nor  who  did  it.  I  want  to  say  one  thing,  however, 
about  the  immediate  future.  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  to-day 
about  what  the  South  wants,  and  must  have  ;  what  you  will  do, 
and  what  you  will  not  do.  1  think  you  have  two  simple  ques- 
tions to  answ^er:  First,  What  can  you  do?  And,  second, 
What  ?m7/ you  do?  There  has  been  much  discussion  here  to- 
day in  regard  to  freedmen  being  allowed  to  testify  in  courts, 
the  repudiation  of  the  war-debt  of  these  States,  and  one  or  two 
other  kindred  questions.  Allow  me  to  say  that  I  think  you  are 
wasting  your  time  in  considering  such  matters.  They  are  de- 
cided already.  There  may  seem  injustice  in  it;  but  the  war- 
debt  of  these  States  can  never  be  paid.  Neither  can  the  freed- 
man  be  left  without  the  privilege  of  testifying  in  his  own  right. 
It  makes  no  difference  whether  you  accept  the  terms  now 
offered  or  not,  in  this  respect  —  yes,  it  may  make  this  differ- 
ence :  it  is  usually  better  to  meet  an  unpleasant  necessity  half 
way,  than  wait  till  it  forces  itself  on  you. 

'•  The  logic  of  events  has  settled  these  things.  The  war-debt 
became  worthless  as  paper  when  Lee  surrendered,  and  nothing 
can  revive  it.  The  taint  of  illegal  consideration  attaches  to  it, 
and  always  will.  So,  too,  in  regard  to  the  colored  man  being 
allowed  to  testify.  This  is  settled.  He  was  allowed  to  testify 
on  the  battle-field,  and  will  be  allowed  to  testify  in  courts  of 
justice.  When  he  took  the  oath  of  service,  he  acquired  the 
rigiit  to  take  the  oath  of  the  witness.  These,  I  say,  are  already 
facts. 

"  The  practical  question  for  you  to  consider  is,  How  far  and 


56  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

how  fast  shall  the  freedmen  be  enfranchised?  You  have  to. 
day  assented  to  the  assertion  repeatedly  made,  that  the  South 
would  never  submit  to  '  nigger  suffrage.'  But  again  I  say,  the 
South  has  nothing  to  do  with  that  question  either.  The  war 
settled  that  also." 

"  We  will  have  another  four  years  of  it  before  we  will  sub- 
mit,", interrupted  Vaughn  in  great  excitement.  There  was 
an  approving  murmur  from  a  good  portion  of  the  audience 
at  this  interruption.  The  speaker  did  not  seem  at  all  discon- 
certed, but,  turning  to  Vaughn,  said,  — 

"  I  hope  not.  Colonel.  Fve  had  enough  ;  but,  if  you  will  have 
it,  lend  me  your  crutches,  and  let  me  join  the  cripple  brigade 
this  time,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  roar  of  laughter  which  followed  interrupted  the  speaker 
for  several  minutes,  and  left  Vaughn  the  picture  of  amazement. 
That  the  stranger  should  venture  upon  such  a  retort  as  that  to 
a  Southern  gentleman  was  quite  beyond  his  comprehension. 

"As  I  said,"  continued  the  Fool,  "with  the  general  question 
of  colored  suffrage  you  have  nothing  to  do.  It  is  a  fact  accom- 
plished. It  is  not  yet  recorded  in  the  statute-books ;  but  it  is 
in  the  book  of  fate.  This  question,  however,  you  have  still  in 
your  hands :  Shall  negro  suffrage  be  established  all  at  once,  or 
gradually?  If  you  of  your  own  volition  will  enfranchise  a 
part  of  them,  marked  by  some  definite  classification,  —  of  intel- 
ligence, property,  or  what  not,  —  and  the  others  as  they  reach 
that  development,  it  will  suffice  at  this  time.  Wait,  hesitate, 
refuse,  and  all  will  be  enfranchised  at  the  same  time  by  the 
General  Government.  You  say  it  will  be  a  great  evil.  Then 
you  ought  to  lighten  it  as  much  as  possible.  If  you  will  give 
the  elective  franchise  to  every  colored  man  who  owns  a  hun- 
dred dollars'  worth  of  real  estate,  and  every  one  who  can  read 
and  write,  the  nation  will  be  satisfied.  Refuse,  and  all  will 
be  enfranchised  without  regard  to  your  wishes  or  your  fears. 

"  I  have  told  you,  not  what  I  think  ought  to  be,  but  what  I 
believe  is,  the  fact  of  the  present  situation.  I  can  see  that 
you  do  not  all  agree  with  me,  perhaps  none  of  you ;  but  it 
will  stand  thinking  over.     Don't  forget  what  I  tell  you,  and, 


A    TWO-HANDED   GAME.  67 

if  you  dislike  my  remarks,  remember  that  you  forced  me  to 
say  what  I  have  said,  as  well  by  your  own  urgent  importunity 
as  by  the  kindly  compulsion  of  your  chairman." 

There  was  a  dull,  surprised  silence  when  he  had  concluded. 
The  very  audacity  of  his  speech  seemed  to  have  taken  away 
all  power,  if  not  all  inclination,  to  reply.  Some  of  his  audi- 
ence regarded  him  with  sullen,  scowling  amazement,  and  others 
just  with  dull  wonder  that  any  one  should  have  the  hardihood 
to  make  such  a  statement.  A  few  seemed  to  regard  him  not 
unkindly,  but  made  no  manifestation  of  approval.  The  chair- 
man rose,  and  stated  that  the  views  of  the  speaker  were  some- 
what startling  and  entirely  new,  he  presumed,  to  the  audience, 
as  they  were  to  him.  As  Colonel  Servosse  said,  they  would 
stand  thinking  about;  and  on  behalf  of  the  audience  he  re- 
turned to  Colonel  Servosse  their  thanks  for  an  exceedingly 
frank  and  clear  statement  of  his  views.  If  there  was  no 
farther  business,  the  meeting  would  stand  adjourned. 

Thereupon  the  crowd  separated;  and,  after  a  few  moments' 
conversation  with  the  chairman  and  one  or  two  others,  the  Fool 
mounted  his  horse,  and  took  his  way  homeward. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A   TWO-HANDED   GAME. 

He  had  not  proceeded  far,  when,  in  descending  a  hill  towards 
a  little  branch,  he  overtook  two  men,  who  were  evidently  saun- 
tering along  the  road,  and  waiting  for  some  one  to  come  up 
with  them.  He  recognized  them  as  men  whom  he  had  seen 
at  the  meeting.  When  he  came  up  with  them,  they  greeted 
him  pleasantly,  but  with  something  like  constraint  in  their 
manner.  It  was  nearly  sundown ;  and  one  of  them,  glancing 
at  the  west,  remarked,  — 

"  Goin'  back  to  Warrin'ton  to-night,  Colonel  ?  '* 


Ob  A   FOOL'S  ERRAXD. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.     "  It's  just  a  pleasant  hour's  ride." 

"It'll  be  right  dark  afore  ye  git  there,"  said  his  interrogatoi 
cautiously. 

•'  A  little  moonlight  will  make  it  all  the  pleasanter,"  he 
laughed. 

"Ef  ye'll  take  pore  folks'  fare,"  said  the  other  man  some- 
what anxiously,  "  you're  welcome  to  supper  and  a  bed  at  my 
house.  It's  right  nearby,"  he  continued,  "not  more'n  a  mile 
off  your  road  at  the  farthest.  You  might  ride  by,  and  stay  tu 
supper  anyhow.  'Twouldn't  hinder  long,  an'  we'd  be  right 
glad  tu  chat  with  ye  a  bit." 

"  Xo,  thank  you,"  he  replied :  "  my  wife  will  be  looking  for 
me,  and  would  be  alarmed  if  I  did  not  get  home  by  dark, 
or  a  little  after.     Good-evening  I  " 

He  was  about,  to  spur  on,  when  one  of  the  men  cried  after 
him  in  their  peculiar  way,  — 

"  0  stranger!  wait  a  minit.  Don't  stop,  but  jest  walk  along 
as  if  we  was  only  passin'  the  time  o'  day,  I  don't  want  tu 
'larm  ye;  but  it's  my  notion  it  would  be  jest  as  well  i^er  ye  not 
to  go  home  by  the  direct  road,  arter  makin'  that  speech  ye  did 
to-day." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Wal.  ye  see,  there  was  a  crowd  of  rough  fellers  thar  that 
was  powerful  mad  at  what  ye  said  about  the  nigger,  though 
I  be  cussed  ef  I  don't  believe  it's  gospel  truth,  every  word  on't, 
myself.  However,  they're  mad  about  it ;  an'  thar's  a  parcel 
of  towns-folks  hez  been  eggin'  'em  on  tu  stop  ye  somewhar  on 
the  road  home,  an'  they  may  make  ye  trouble.  I  don't  think 
they  mean  tu  hurt  ye  ;  but  then  ther's  no  tellin'  what  such 
a  crowd  '11  do." 

"  You  say  they  intend  to  waylay  me  ?  "  asked  Servosse. 

"  Wal,  no  I  we  didn't  say  that :  did  we.  Bill  V  "  appealing  to 
his  comrade.  "  But  we  thought  they  mout  stop  ye,  and  treat 
ye  rough,  ye  know." 

"  So  you  think  they'll  stop  me.  Where  do  you  think  they'll 
do  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  we  don't  know  it !     Mind  ye,  we  don't  say  so ;  but  they 


A    TWO-HANDED   GAME.  59 

mout,  an',  ef  tliey  did,  'twould  ez  likely  ez  not  be  somewhar 
about  the  ford." 

"  All  right,  my  friends.  When  I'm  stopped,  it  will  be  a 
queer  tiling  if  some  one's  not  hurt." 

"  Better  stop  with  us  now,"  said  his  new  friends  anxiously, 
"an'  not  git  into  trouble  when  ye  can  jest  ez  well  go  round  it." 
"  No,  thank  you,"  he  answered :  "  I'm  going  home ;  and  no 
one  will  stop  me  either." 

He  spurred  on,  but  had  gone  only  a  short  distance,  when  a 
pebble  fell  in  the  road  in  front  of  him,  and  then  another,  evi- 
dently thrown  from  the  bushes  on  his  right.  He  drew  rein, 
and  was  about  to  take  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  when  he  heard 
some  one,  evidently  a  colored  man,  say,  — 

"O  Mars'  Kunuel  !  don't  shoot!  "  And  at  the  same  time  he 
saw  a  black  face,  surrounded  by  gi-ay  hair  and  whiskers, 
peering  out  from  behind  a  bush.  "  Jes'  you  git  down  off'n  yer 
boss,  an'  etan'  h'yer  one  miuit  while  I  tells  ye  sumfin'." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently.  "  It's  getting 
towards  sundown,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  late  home. 

"  Dar !  jes'  h'yer  him  now  !  "  said  the  colored  man  reproach- 
fully. "  Ez  ef  ole  Jerry  ebber  wanted  tu  keep  him  'way  from 
home!" 

"  AVell,  what  is  it,  Jerry  ?  Be  in  a  hurry  !  "  said  Servosse,  as 
he  dismounted,  and  led  his  horse  into  the  dense  undergrowth 
where  the  man  was.  It  was  without  misgiving  that  he  did  so. 
He  did  not  know  the  man,  and  had  never  seen  him  before, 
except,  as  he  thought,  at  the  meeting  that  day.  He  had  been 
warned  of  danger;  but  such  was  his  confidence  in  the  good 
will  of  every  colored  man,  that  he  left  the  highway,  and  came 
into  the  thicket  to  meet  him,  without  fear.  The  confidence 
which  his  service  as  a  Federal  soldier  had  inspired  in  the  good 
faith,  trustworthiness,  and  caution  of  the  colored  man,  had  not 
yet  departed. 

"  Dey's  waitin'  fer  ye,  Mars'  Kunnel,"  said  the  man  almost 
in  a  whisper,  as  soon  as  he  came  near.  *'  I'd  sot  down  to  rest 
my  lame  leg  in  de  bushes  jes'  a  little  while  ago,  an'  they  come 
'long,  an'  stopped  nigh  'bout  where  I  was ;  an'  1  heard  'em  lay 


60  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

de  whole  plan, — tu  stop  ye  down  by  de  fo'd,  an'  tie  ye  out 
into  de  woods,  an'  give  ye  a  whippin'  fur  de  speech  ye  made 
to-day." 

The  man  came  from  behind  his  bush,  and  Servosse  saw  that 
he  was  strangely  deformed,  or  rather  crippled  from  disease. 
He  walked  almost  bent  double,  supported  by  two  staves,  but 
had  yet  a  very  bright,  intelligent  countenance.  He  remem- 
bered then  having  seen  him  before.  His  name  was  Jerry 
Hunt,  and  he  lived  on  a  plantation  adjoining  Warrington. 

"How  did  you  come  to  be  so  far  from  home,  Jerry?"  he 
asked  in  surprise. 

"Went  to  h'yer  de  speakin',  sah.  Can't  tell  what  fcr. 
Tought  de  Lor'  hed  sumfin'  fer  old  Jerry  tu  du  out  h'yer;  so 
started  'arly,  an'  come.  I  knowed  de  Lor'  sent  me,  but  didn't 
know  what  fer  till  I  heerd  'em  a-fixin'  it  up  tu  git  ye,  mars' 
Kunnel.    Den  I  knowed,  'cause  yu'se  our  fren' :  I  knows  dat." 

Then  he  told  how,  as  he  was  lying  in  the  bushes  to  rest,  si::^ 
men  came  along;  and  he  heard  them  arrange  to  waylay  Colo^ 
nel  Servosse,  "  an'  war'  him  out  wid  hick'ries.  Dey  said  dey 
wa'n't  gwine  to  hurt  him,  but  jes'  tu  let  him  know  dat  he 
couldn't  make  sech  infamous  speeches  as  dat  in  dis  region 
widout  gettin'  his  back  striped,  —  dat's  all." 

"  And  where  are  they  to  be.  Uncle  Jerry  ?  " 

"Jes'  on  dis  side  de  fo'd,  sah,  —  jes'  as  ye  goes  down  de  hil] 
in  de  deep  cut." 

"  But  how  are  they  to  know  which  road  I  take  ?  The  road 
forks  three  miles  before  I  come  to  the  creek,  and  I  can  as  well 
take  one  as  the  other." 

"  Yes,  sah !  "  said  Uncle  Jerry.  "  Dey  tought  o'  dat :  so  dey's 
gwine  to  leabe  one  man  at  de  fawks  wid  a  good  hoss  to  come 
down  whichever  road  you  don't  take,  an'  gib  'em  warnin', 
leastwise  ef  you  takes  de  upper  road,  which  dey  don't  'spect, 
cos  you  come  de  lower  one.  Dey's  gwine  to  put  a  grape-vine 
cross  de  cut  to  catch  yer  hoss." 

"  And  who  stops  at  the  forks? " 

"  Mars'  Savage,  sah." 

"  What  horse  is  he  riding  ?  " 


A    TWO-HANDED   GAME,  61 

" He'll  not  liev  any  at  de  cawner,  but  \\ill  claim  to  be  wait- 
in'  for  Mars'  Vauglm's  carryall  to  come ;  but  de  gray  filly's  hid 
in  de  bushes." 

"  All  right,  Jerry.     I'm  much  obliged.     If  I  don't  take  care 
of  myself  now,  it's  my  own  fault.     Good-night  I " 
• "  God  bless  you,  sah ! " 

Servosse  rode  on,  revolving  in  his  mind  a  plan  by  which  he 
should  discomfit  his  enemies.  To  evade  them  after  such 
warning  was  a  matter  of  no  difficulty  whatever;  but  he  was 
too  angry  to  wish  to  do  this.  The  idea  that  he  should  be  way- 
laid upon  the  public  highway,  and  maltreated,  because,  after 
their  own  urgencj^  he  had  spoken  his  opinion  frankly  and 
plainly  about  a  public  matter,  was  more  than  he  could  endure. 
He  determined  to  do  something  more  than  escape  the  threat- 
ened attack,  and  give  the  parties  to  understand  that  he  was 
not  to  be  trifled  with. 

On  arriving  at  the  forks  of  the  road,  he  found  Savage  in 
waiting,  as  he  had  been  told,  and,  after  some  little  chat  with 
him,  started  on  the  upper  road.  Savage  called  to  him,  and 
assured  him  that  the  lower  road  was  much  better,  and  a  nearer 
way  to  AVarrington. 

"  Well,"  was  the  reply,  "  my  horse  has  chosen  this,  and  I 
always  let  him  have  his  own  way  when  we  are  going  toward 
home." 

The  horse  of  which  he  sj^oke  was  a  bay  Messenger,  which  he 
had  captured  in  battle,  and  afterwards  ridden  for  nearly  two 
years  in  the  service.  In  speed,  endurance,  and  sagacity  the 
horse  had  few  equals  even  among  that  famous  stock.  Hoof, 
limb,  and  wind  were  sound;  and  liis  spirit  did  honor  to  his 
illustrious  parentage.  Upon  his  steadiness  and  capacity  his 
rider  could  count  with  the  utmost  certainty.  Horse  and  man 
were  well  mated,  each  understanding  with  exactness  the  temper 
and  habits  of  the  other. 

"2sow,  Lollard,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  was  well  hidden  from 
the  place  where  Savage  was  posted,  "make  the  old  'Taber- 
nacle Church'  in  the  best  time  you  can,  and  see  if  we  do  not 
make  these  gentlemen  repent  the  attempt  to  circumvent  us." 


62  A    FOOrS  ERRAXD. 

"  The  Tabernacle  "  "^as  the  name  of  a  church  which  stood 
on  the  upper  road,  about  two  miles  from  the  lower  ford,  from 
which  there  was  a  bridle-path  through  the  woods,  coming  out 
on  the  lower  road  about  half  a  mile  above  the  ford.  To  reach 
the  latter  road  by  this  path  before  Savage  should  have  time 
to  pass  the  point  of  intersection  was  now  the  immediate  ob- 
ject. 

Lollard  covered  the  ground  with  mighty  stretches,  but 
evenly  and  steadily,  in  a  way  that  showed  his  staying  qualities. 
When  they  reached  the  church,  his  rider  threw  the  reins  on 
his  neck,  and  leaped  to  the  ground.  He  was  well  acquainted 
with  every  bush  around  the  church,  having  frequently  attended 
meeting  there.  After  groping  around  for  a  few  seconds,  he 
bent  over  a  small  hickory,  and  cut  it  off  with  his  knife.  It 
made  a  goad  about  six  feet  long,  and  perhaps  an  inch  and  a 
half  in  diameter  in  the  heaviest  part.  He  trimmed  off  a  few 
shoots,  and  then  laid  the  top  on  the  ground,  and  held  it  with 
his  foot  while  he  gave  the  butt  a  few  turns,  deftly  twisting  the 
fiber  so  that  it  would  not  snap  from  any  sudden  blow.  This 
done,  he  had  a  weapon  which  in  the  hands  of  an  expert  might 
well  be  deemed  formidable.  He  had  a  revolver  in  his  belt; 
but  this  he  determined  not  to  use. 

Mounting  again,  he  dashed  down  the  bridle-path  until  he 
came  to  the  low^er  road.  A  little  clump  of  pines  stood  in  the 
angle  made  by  this  path  and  the  road ;  and  on  the  soft  sward 
behind  this  he  stopped,  and,  leaning  forward,  stroked  his  horse's 
face  to  prevent  him  from  neighing  upon  the  approach  of  the 
expected  horseman.  He  had  waited  but  a  few  moments  when 
he  heard  Savage  coming  at  a  brisk  gallop  on  his  gray  filly. 
The  moon  had  now  risen ;  and  between  the  straggling  pine-tov>s 
he  caught  occasional  glimpses  of  the  rider  as  he  came  along 
the  stretch  of  white  road,  now  distinctly  seen  in  the  moonlight, 
and  now  half  hidden  by  the  shadow.  Holding  his  horse  hard 
until  the  other  had  passed  the  opening  of  the  path,  he  gave  the 
gallant  bay  the  spur,  and  in  half  a  dozen  bounds  was  on  the 
filly's  quarter.  The  long,  lithe  hickory  hissed  through  the  air, 
and  again  and  a.ofain  lashed  across  the  mare's  haunches.     Stumr 


A    TWO-HANDED   GAME.  63 

with  pain,  and  mad  with  fright,  she  bounded  forward,  and  for  a 
moment  was  boj'ond  reach  ;  while  her  rider,  scarce  less  amazed 
tlian  his  horse  at  the  unexpected  onset,  lost  his  self-control, 
and  added  unintentionally  the  prick  of  the  spur  to  her  incen- 
tives for  flight.  It  was  but  a  moment's  respite,  however;  for 
the  powerful  horse  was  in  an  instant  again  at  her  side,  and 
again  and  again  the  strong  arm  of  his  rider  sent  the  tough 
hickory  cutting  through  her  hide  or  over  the  shoulders  of  her 
rider.  Half-way  to  the  cut  in  the  road  this  race  of  pursuer 
and  pursued  kept  up.  Then  Servosse  with  sudden  effort  drew 
in  the  bay,  and  subdued  his  excitement ;  and,  taking  the  shady 
side  of  the  road,  he  advanced  at  an  easy  gait  to  observe  the 
result  of  his  artifice.  Meantime  the  party  at  the  cut,  hearing 
the  swift  clatter  of  horses'  feet,  concluded  that  the  man  for 
whom  they  were  waiting  had  been  warned  of  the  ambush,  and 
was  pushing  forward  to  avoid  being  stopped  by  them  in  the 
woods. 

"By  heavens!  "  said  one,  "it  M'ill  kill  him.  Let's  undo  the 
^^pe-vine."  And  he  sprang  forward,  knife  in  hand,  to  cut  it 
loose. 

"  No,"  said  another :  "  if  he  chooses  to  break  his  neck,  it's 
none  of  our  business." 

"  Yes,"  said  a  third  :  "  let  it  alone,  Sam.  It's  the  easiest 
way  to  get  rid  of  him." 

An  opening  in  the  wood  allowed  the  rising  full  moon  to 
shine  clear  upon  the  upper  part  of  the  cut.  Faster  and  faster 
came  the  footstrokes  of  the  maddened  filly,  —  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  ambuscade  which  the  rider's  friends  had  laid  for  another. 
Her  terrified  rider,  knowing  the  fate  that  was  before  him,  had 
tried  in  vain  to  stop  her,  had  broken  his  rein  in  so  doing,  and 
now  clung  in  abject  terror  to  the  saddle. 

"  Good  God !  how  he  rides  !  "  said  one. 

"Heavens!  men,  it  will  be  murder !"  cried  another;  and  as 
by  common  impulse  they  sprang  forward  to  cut  the  rope.  It 
was  too  late.  Just  as  the  hand  of  the  foremost  touched  the 
tough  vine-rope,  the  gray  filly  bounded  into  the  spot  of  clear 
moonlight  at  the  head  of  the  cut;  and  the  pale  face  of  their 
comrade,  distorted  with  terror,  flashed  upon  their  sight. 


64  A    FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"My  God!"  they  all  cried  out  together,  "it's  Tom  Sa- 
vage !  " 

The  mare's  knees  struck  the  taut  vine.  There  was  a  crash, 
a  groan;  and  Tom  Savage  and  liis  beautiful  young  mare 
were  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  rocky  cut,  crushed  and  broken, 
while  on  the  bank  stood  his  comrades,  pallid  and  trembling 
with  horror. 

It  needed  not  a  moment's  reflection  to  show  even  to  their 
half-drunken  minds  what  had  been  the  result  of  their  cowardly 
plan ;  and,  smitten  with  the  sudden  consciousness  of  blood- 
guiltiness,  they  turned  and  fled  without  waiting  to  verify  their 
apprehension  by  an  investigation  of  the  quivering  wreck  of 
mangled  flesh  upon  the  rocks  below.  Hastily  mounting  their 
horses,  which  were  picketed  near,  they  dashed  through  the  ford ; 
and  he  against  whom  this  evil  had  been  devised  heard  the 
sharp  clatter  of  their  horses'  hoofs  as  they  galloped  up  the 
rocky  hill  beyond.  Then  he  dismounted,  and  went  cautiously 
forward  to  the  edge  of  the  cut.  A  moment  of  listening  told 
him  there  was  none  there  except  the  man  whom  he  had  lashed 
on  to  his  fate.  His  heart  beat  fast  with  sickening  fear  as  lie 
glanced  at  the  mangled  form  below.  A  low  groan  fell  upon 
his  ear.  He  clambered  down  the  steep  side  of  the  cut,  and 
groped  about  in  the  shadow  until  he  found  the  body  of  the 
man.  He  struck  a  match,  and  found  that  he  was  still  living, 
though  insensible. 

At  this  moment  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  rumbling  vehicle  on 
the  road  above. 

"Dis  way,  boys!  dis  way!"  cried  the  voice  of  old  Jerry. 
*•  'Twas  right  here  dey  was  gwine  to  stop  de  Kunnel." 

There  were  hasty  footsteps,  and  a  rattling  one-horse  cart  drove 
into  the  moonlight  with  the  white-framed  face  of  old  Jerry 
peering  over  the  dashboard  ;  while  a  half-dozen  more  colored 
men,  each  armed  with  a  stout  club,  rode  with  him,  or  ran  be- 
side it. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  below. 

"  Bress  de  Lor'  !  "  shouted  Jerry.  "  Dat's  de  Kunnel's  voice. 
Dey  hain't  killed  him  yit.     Hurry  on,  boys  !  hurry  on  !  " 


MURDER  MOST  FOUL. 


65 


He  scrambled  from  the  cart,  unmindful  of  his  decrepitude, 
and  in  an  instant  Nvilling  hands  were  helping  the  "Kunnel" 
bear  something  limp  and  bleeding  towards  the  light.  Then 
one  brought  water  in  his  hat,  and  another  gathered  something 
to  make  a  blaze  for  closer  examination  of  the  body  of  Sav- 
age. Fortunately  he  had  slipped  from  the  saddle  when  his 
nTare  struck  the  rope,  and  before  she  took  her  final  plunge  upon 
the  rocks  where  she  now  lay  crushed  and  dying.  He  had  been 
dashed  against  the  clayey  bank,  and  was  battered  and  bleed- 
ing, but  still  alive.  He  was  put  carefully  in  the  cart,  and  car- 
ried on  to  Warrington. 

"  Jes'  arter  ye  passed  me,  Kunnel,  the  cart  comed  on,  an'  I 
tole  'em  what  was  up,  an' got  'em  to  drive  on  peart-like,  so  that 
we  might  help  ye  ef  ther  was  any  need  on't,  which,  bress  de 
Lor'!  dey  wa'n't,"  was  uncle  Jerry's  explanation  of  their  un- 
expected appearance. 


CHAPTER    XIV, 

MURDER    MOST    FOUL. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  great  stir  over  the  horse  of  Sav- 
age, which  was  found  dead  at  the  foot  of  the  cut.  The  grape- 
vine still  remaining  attached  to  a  tree  on  each  side  of  the  road 
fully  explained  her  condition.  Savage  himself  could  not  be 
found;  and  his  five  companions  had  all  fled,  each  fearing  the 
others,  and  each  believing  the  others  had  removed  and  hidden 
the  body.  That  a  murder  had  been  committed  was  evident, 
everyone  said;  and  those  who  had  been  privy  to  the  design, 
though  not  engaged  in  its  execution,  were  hardly  at  fault  to 
imagine  how  it  occurred,  at  least  the  main  features  of  it;  and 
the  flight  of  Savage's  comrades  confirmed  them  in  this  belief. 
The  scheme  to  entrap  the  new-comer  had  evidently  failed,  and 
a  greater  evil  than  had  been  intended  him  had  befallen  one  of 
the  conspirators.     Strangely  enough  no  one  associated  Servosse 


6Q  A    FOOVS  ERRAND. 

in  any  way  with  this  result.  Public  justice,  however,  and  the 
safety  of  those  who  were  thought  to  be  the  real  though  unin- 
tentional murderers,  required  that  some  one  should  be  pun- 
ished. A  scape-goat  was  absolutely  necessary  to  insure  the 
]3eace  and  safety  both  of  those  who  had  fled  and  those  who 
remained,  as  well  as  to  satisfy  the  natural  demands  of  public 
j  Listice. 

So  three  colored  men  were  arrested  on  suspicion,  and,  after 
being  maltreated  and  threatened  to  induce  them  to  confess, 
were  haled  before  Justice  Hyman  for  examniation.  AVith 
hands  bound  with  tightly  knotted  cords  before  their  breasts, 
and  elbows  tied  behind  their  backs,  they  were  led  each  one  by 
a  man  on  horseback  —  a  great  crowd  attending,  all  armed  — 
along  the  big  road  which  led  by  AVarrington  to  the  house  of 
Squire  Hyman.  Old  Jerry  came  to  inform  "  de  Kunnel  "  of 
the  arrest.  He  immediately  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  over 
to  attend  the  examination. 

The  court  was  held  in  the  grove  befm-e  the  squire's  house, 
the  magistrate  sitting  by  a  table  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  smok- 
ing a  long  reed-stemmed  pipe,  the  bowl  of  which  was  of  that 
noted  clay  which  the  smokers  of  the  Allegany  slopes  declare  to 
be  little  inferior  to  the  meerschaum,  and  which  the  connoisseur 
who  looks  for  a  '•  sweet  smoke,"  rather  than  a  highly  colored 
bowl,  will  be  apt  to  prefer  even  to  that  vaunted  article. 

The  prisoners  were  charged  with  the  murder  of  Thomas 
Savage.  They  had  been  arrested  without  a  warrant,  such 
formality  not  being  considered  important,  as  they  were  *'  only 
niggers."  The  gravity  of  the  offence  charged  would  have  justi- 
fied an  arrest  without  a  warrant;  but  no  one  thought  of  putting- 
it  on  that  ground.  One  was  now  filled  out,  however;  affidavit 
being  made  by  the  ever-ready  Colonel  Vaughn,  that  he  had  rea- 
sonable ground  to  believe,  and  did  believe,  that  the  defendants, 
and and ,  being  malicious  and  evil-disposed  per- 
sons, moved  and  seduced  by  the  instigation  of  the  Devil,  at  and 

in  the  county  of  ,  one    Thomas   Savage,   in  the  peace  of 

God  and  the  State  then  and  there  being,  did  kill  and  murder, 
contrary  to  the  form  of  the  statute,  in  such  cases  made  and 


MURDER   MOST  FOUL.  67 

provided,  by  tying  a  grape-vine  across  the  cut  on  the  west  side 
of  Gray's  Ford  on  Reedy  Run  in  said  county. 

The  constable  made  return  thereon  that  he  had  the  bodies  of 
the  accused  before  the  court,  and  the  examination  proceeded. 

The  county-attorney,  Nvho  had  been  sent  for  in  hot  haste  to 
conduct  the  trial,  arrived  just  as  these  formalities  were  con- 
cluded, and,  after  a  brief  consultation  with  Colonel  Vaughn 
and  one  or  two  others,  announced  his  readiness  to  proceed,  and 
stated  what  he  expected  to  prove  at  some  length  and  with 
considerable  vehemence  of  exjiression ;  after  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  introduce  his  evidence  Thfs  consisted  of  proof  of 
the  finding  of  the  mare,  evidently  killed  by  her  fall  upon  the 
rocks,  the  grape-vine  drawn  tightly  across  the  road,  the  hat  of 
Savage  found  in  the  cut,  and  traces  of  blood  along  the  track 
in  the  same.  These  facts,  he  claimed,  sufficiently  established 
the  death,  without  the  production  of  the  corpus  delicti,  —  suffi- 
ciently, at  least,  to  justify  a  binding  over.  He  had  no  doubt 
but  that  the  body  would  be  found. 

To  connect  the  accused  men  with  the  crime,  he  relied  upon 
the  fact  that  they  had  reason  to  harbor  malice  towards  the 
supposed  defunct,  having  had,  each  of  them,  some  difficulty 
with  him  a  short  time  previous  to  the  event.  In  addition  to 
that,  certain  tracks  were  found  about  the  ford  in  the  moist 
earth,  which  must  have  been  made  by  colored  men  ;  and  those 
tracks  were  about  the  size  and  general  appearance  of  those  of 
the  accused. 

When  the  evidence  was  concluded,  the  magistrate  remarked 
that  he  would  have  to  commit  the  prisoners;  and  there  was 
a  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd  to  the  effect  that  a  better 
and  cheaper  way  would  be  to  string  them  up  to  a  tree. 

"If  you  send  them  to  jail,"  said  one,  "the  danmed  Bureau 
will  turn  them  out  I  " 

Then  Servosse  quietly  stepped  forward,  and  inquired  if  the- 
prisonefs  had  not  a  right  to  be  heard  and  to  introduce  testi- 
inony  in  their  own  behalf. 

A  look  of  blank  amazement,  not  unmixed  with  righteou? 
indignation, .  ran   through   the   crowd   at  this  proposal.     The 


68  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

magistrate  said  he  supposed  they  had,  —  that  is,  if  they  had 
any  testimony  to  offer. 

Thereupon  Servosse  said  he  would  be  sworn,  and,  being 
asked  what  he  knew  about  the  killing  of  Thomas  Savage  by 
the  accused,  said  he  knew  they  did  not  kill  him. 

"Do  you  know  this  of  your  own  personal  knowledge,  Colo- 
nel ?  "  asked  Justice  Hyman. 

"I  do,  sir." 

"  Will  you  please  tell  the  court  how  you  know  this  fact  ?  " 
asked  the  county-attorney. 

"  Because,  sir,  Mr.  Thomas  Savage,  the  man  supposed  to 
be  dead,  is  at  this  moment  alive,  and  at  my  house." 

Had  a  clap  of  thunder  burst  from  the  clear  sky  above  the 
crowd,  their  surprise  could  not  have  been  greater. 

At  length  the  county-attorney  broke  into  a  laugh,  and, 
extending  his  hand  to  the  witness,  said,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  you  bring  us  very  good  news.  What  is  his  con- 
dition?" 

"He  is  very  much  injured;  but  you  had  better  ask  him  in 
regard  to  the  cause  of  it.  He  will  be  able  to  tell  you  soon,  or, 
if  necessary,  might  do  it  now.  I  prefer  not  to  say  any  thing 
about  it  myself,  —  at  least,  not  unless  in  his  presence.  One 
thing  I  can  say,  however :  these  men  you  have  under  arrest  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  accident  which  befell  him." 

"  All  right !  "  said  the  attorney.  "  We  may  as  well  discharge 
them,  your  worship.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Colonel,  but 
wish  you  had  told  me  before  this  farce  begun.  I  believe  you 
did  it  just  to  see  me  make  a  fool  of  myself." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "I  never  dreamed  of  a 
lawyer  consenting  to  a  conviction  for  murder  without  proof  of 
the  fact  of  death. 

«Sh— !"  said  the  attorney;  then,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
mouth,  and  leaning  forward  close  to  the  ear  of  his  interlocutor, 
he  said  in  a  whisper,  —  "^ 

"  Don't  you  see  this.  Colonel  ?  What  would  have  become  of 
the  poor  devils  if  they  had  been  turned  loose  on  this  charge 
before  your  testimony  ?  "  He  glanced  around,  and  then  said 
aloud  very  significantly,  — 


MURDER   MOST  FOUL.  69 

" '  There  needs  no  ghost  come  from  the  dead  to  tell  us  that, 
my  lord.'     Eh  ?  " 

Then  the  squire  wanted  them  all  to  take  a  little  brandy  with 
him.  A  decanter  with  glasses,  and  a  sugar-bowl  with  a  half- 
dozen  spoons  bristling  from  its  mouth,  were  set  on  the  table, 
and  the  whole  crowd  were  invited  to  partake.  A  bucket  of 
water  and  a  gourd  were  brought,  and  each  one  helped  himself 
to  the  apple-jack,  sugar,  and  water.  The  late  prisoners  were  not 
forgotten.  AVhen  they  had  been  unbound,  the  justice  himself 
poured  out  a  stiff  dram  for  each,  and  congratulated  them  on 
their  escape.  The  change  from  seemingly  savage  cruelty  to 
sympathy  and  good  will  was  instantaneous,  and  to  Servosse 
inexplicable. 

The  sullen  stoical  apathy  which  had  marked  the  defendants 
during  the  previous  proceedings  had  been  changed  into  pro- 
found astonishment  by  the  introduction  of  "dat  ar  Yankee 
kunnel."  They  had  listened  with  dilated  eyes  to  his  brief 
testimony,  and  when  their  cords  were  cut  they  had  no  memory 
of  previous  ill  treatment  in  the  joy  of  unexpected  deliverance. 
So  when  the  squire  offered  them  a  dram,  and  congratulated 
them  in  kind  words  on  their  release,  each  one  tossed  off  his 
glass  of  apple-brandy  with  a  grin  and  a  shufl9.e,  and  a  hearty, 
"  Here's  luck  to  ye,  Mars' !  " 

The  only  unpleasant  thing  about  it  was  that  the  wife  of  one 
of  them  who  came  rushing  upon  the  ground  at  this  time  with 
loud  cries  of  grief,  upon  being  hastily  informed  of  the  facts, 
would  persist  in  throwing  herself  upon  her  knees  before  the 
Fool,  and  thanking  him  in  the  name  of  her  helpless  babes  for 
saving  their  father  from  being  hanged  without  law  or  justice, 
*' jes'  because  he  was  a  nigger." 

"The  pore  critter  don't  know  any  better,"  as  the  squire 
informed  the  Fool  apologetically. 

To  which  remark  the  Fool  replied, — 

"  Evidently  not."  A  reply  which  left  the  good  justice  m 
grave  doubt  as  to  what  was  intended  by  it. 

Mr.  Thomas  Savage  remained  at  Warrington  until  his 
bruises  were  healed.     A  great  many  of  his  friends  came  to  see 


70  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

him,  and  were  very  anxious  as  to  the  cause  of  his  injuries. 
He  said  but  little  while  under  the  roof  of  his  new  neighbor, 
but  after  he  left  made  no  secret  of  the  matter,  and  strangely 
enough  was  thenceforward  the  stanchest  of  friends  to  Ser- 
vosse  and  his  family. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"WHO    IS    MY   NEIGHBOR?" 

One  day  their  neighbor,  shortly  after  the  events  narrated  in 
the  last  chapter,  Squire  Ilvman,  came  over,  ostensibly  to  see 
Mr.  Savage,  but  really,  as  Mrs.  Servosse  thought,  to  renew  his 
intimacy  with  them,  which  he  broke  off  in  a  miff  the  year 
before,  because  they  would  invite  the  teachers  of  the  colored 
schools  to  visit  them.  He  seemed  rather  shy  at  first;  and 
Mr.  Savage  was  absent,  so  that  his  excuse  did  not  hold  good. 
As  Colonel  Servosse  was  awaj",  ]\letta  thought  she  should  have 
a  hard  time  to  bridge  over  his  discomfiture.  He  evidently 
remembered  the  last  time  he  was  there,  and  knew  that  she 
had  not  forgotten  it.  However,  as  it  happened,  she  had 
one  of  the  new  novels  of  Victor  Hugo  upon  her  work- 
table  ;  and  knowing  him  to  be  a  somewhat  bookish  man  in 
his  queer,  rough  way,  having  heard  her  husband  say  that  he 
had  read  a  great  deal,  and  had  quaint  and  original  views  in 
regard  to  what  he  read,  she  called  the  book  to  his  attention, 
and  soon  had  him  sitting  vis  a  vis  with  her;  his  great  stick  and 
hat  lying  by  him  on  the  floor,  and  his  long-stemmed  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  but  hardly  ever  burning,  though  he  lighted  it  every 
few  minutes.  Of  course  he  did  not  smoke  in  her  sitting- 
room  without  her  leave,  nor  even  did  he  presume  to  ask  such 
leave ;  but,  knowing  what  the  old  man's  pipe  must  be  to  him 
by  the  pertinacity  with  which  he  carried  it  about,  she  insisted 
on  his  lighting  it.  It  was  but  a  short  time  before  he  was  dis- 
coursing familiarly  on  books  and  events  in  a  manner  so  quaint 
that  she  was  well  repaid. 


"WHO  IS  iVr  NEIGHBOR?'*  71 

.  "  Victor  Hugo,"  said  he  meditatively.  "  Do  you  know,  Ma- 
dam, it  seems  almost  a  dream  to  me  the  way  that  name  has 
become  familiar  this  side  the  water?  He  must  be  an  old  man 
now,  smartly  older  than  I  am,  ma'am ;  and  he  has  been  a  most 
prolific  writer,  I  believe,  from  a  very  early  age.  Yet  —  would 
you  believe  it? — I  never  saw  or  read,  to  my  present  remembrance 
at  least,  any  thing  that  he  had  written  before  the  war.  And 
I  don't  know  anybody  who  had  either.  Not  that  I  am  any 
scholar,  ma'am :  but  we  Southern  people  had  a  good  deal  of 
time  to  read  in  those  days ;  and,  as  I  had  not  much  education,  I 
took  to  reading,  so  as  not  to  feel  behind  my  associates.  I  did 
not  read  every  thing  of  course,  and  didn't  have  any  particular 
end  in  view,  I'm  sorry  to  say ;  but  1  read  what  other  folks  read 
of  novels  and  politics  and  religious  controversies,  and  whatever 
fell  in  my  way.  But  I  didn't  read  any  of  Hugo's  works,  and 
hardly  heard  on  'em,  till,  some  time  along  the  last  year  of  the 
war,  a  neighbor's  son  came  back  from  the  hospital,  where  he'd 
been  lyin'  sick  for  a  good  bit,  and  loaned  me  a  book  he  called 
'Lee's  Miserables.'  It  .was  a  shallow  sort  of  pun,  as  I  found 
out ;  but  I  reckon  it  was  a  most  earnest  one  to  the  poor  fellows 
in  the  trenches.  Well,  it's  wonderful  the  run  that  book  had 
here  in  the  South,  in  spite  of  the  blockade ;  and  I  was  not  a 
Ijit  surprised  to  see  it  stated  the  other  day  that  he  had  almost 
as  many  readers  in  America  as  at  home.  He's  the  most  Ameri- 
can Frenchman  I  ever  read  after." 

Then  he  would  dip  into  the  new  book  for  a  while,  or  read 
aloud  some  little  passage  Mhich  struck  him,  until  he  had 
mastered  the  period  treated  of  and  the  general  drift  of  the 
book.  He  bespoke  its  loan  as  soon  as  she  had  finished  it,  but 
could  not  be  induced  to  take  it  before. 

After  a  time  he  asked  to  look  into  the  book-case,  and  wa? 
soon  engrossed  in  making  new,  and  renewing  old  friends,  as  he 
said.  There  were  some  works  which  Servosse  had  put  on  an 
upper  shelf,  lest  they  should  attract  any  one's  attention^  and 
be  thought  to  have  been  displayed  with  any  intent  to  offend. 
They  were  works  upon  slavery  and  kindred  subjects. 

She  noticed  that  the  old  man  was  peculiarly  attracted  to  this 


i'2  A   FOOLS  ERRAND. 

shelf.  He  seemed  very  soon  to  have  forgotten  all  about  Yictoi 
Hugo,  and  he  presently  asked  if  he  might  borrow  some  of 
these  volumes.  !She  hardly  knew  wnat  to  tell  him.  She  did 
want  to  ask  him  to  wait  until  Comfort  came ;  for  it  seemed  so 
absurd,  in  what  was  calle'd  a  free  and  Christian  land,  to  hesitate 
as  to  whether  it  would  be  safe  to  lend  a  simple  book.  He 
noticed  her  hesitation,  and  said,  — 

"  I  have  a  curiosity  to  read  them.  I  have  heard  so  much 
about  them,  and  never  saw  them  before.  You  may  not  be 
aware,  madam,  that  they  were  regarded  as  '  seditious  publica- 
tions '  before  the  war ;  so  that  one  could  only  get  to  read  them 
at  considerable  risk  and  trouble.  This  I  never  cared  to  take; 
but  now  that  it  is  all  over,  and  the  doctrines  of  these  books 
have  come  to  prevail,  I  would  like  to  read  the  books  just  to  see 
what  hurt  us." 

She  remarked  that  her  husband  had  put  them  on  the  top 
shelf  in  order  that  he  might  not  seem  either  to  obtrude  them 
upon  his  neighbors'  notice,  or  to  deny  their  possession  by  con- 
cealment. 

"  Xo,  he  has  no  cause  for  that  now,"  said  he  ;  "  though  I  re- 
member when  a  man  was  tried  and  convicted,  and  sentence  of 
whipping  and  imprisonment  passed  on  him  too,  just  for  having 
one  of  those  in  his  possession." 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  said,  "that  the  law  actually  made  it 
criminal,  or,  rather,  I  supposed  it  was  never  enforced." 

'•  Oh,  yes  !  it  was,"  he  answered.  "  The  case  I  allude  to  was 
Mr.  AVanzer,  who  belonged  to  a  very  well-known  family  hfre 
in  the  county,  though  he  had  just  come  in  from  Indiana,  which 
was  the  way  he  come  to  have  the  book  about  him.  There  w  as 
a  big  trial  and  a  powerful  excitement  over  it.  He  was  very 
ably  defended,  and  his  lawyers  took  a  heap  of  points  on  the  law, 
which  it  was  thought  might  be  declared  unconstitutional.  But 
'twasn't  no  manner  of  use.  The  Supreme  Court  stood  by  the 
law  in  every  particular." 

'•  1  thought  it  was  only  mobs  that  interfered  with  people  for 
reading  what  they  chose,"  said  she ;  "  at  least  since  the  good  old 
aays  when  they  used  to  burn  people  for  reading  the  Bible." 


"  WHO  IS  MY  NEIGHBOR  ?  "  73 

"  AVell,"  said  he,  "  there  used  to  be  mobs  about  it  too :  at 
least  we  used  to  get  very  much  excited  at  the  idea  of  people 
bringing  what  were  called  'abolition'  books  here,  to  stir  up 
our  slaves  to  insurrection ;  and  probably  did  some  things  that 
had  as  well  not  have  been  done." 

"  But  how  could  you,  Squire  ?  "  she  asked.  "  This  claimed  to 
be  a  free  country;  and  how  could  j^ou  think  you  had  any  right 
to  persecute  one  for  reading,  writing,  or  saying  what  he  be- 
lieved? I  suppose  in  those  days  j^ou  would  have  hung  my 
husband  for  expressing  his  opinions?  " 

"In  those  days,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  Colonel  Servosse  would 
never  have  expressed  such  opinions.  I  admit  that  he  is  a 
brave  man  ;  but  no  one  would  any  more  have  uttered  such  senti- 
ments as  he  puts  out  now^  than  he  would  have  carried  a  torch 
into  a  powder-magazine.  The  danger  was  so  apparent,  that  no 
one  could  be  found  fool-hardy  enough  to  attempt  it.  I  think 
such  a  one  would  have  been  torn  limb  from  limb,  as  by  a  wild 
beast,  by  any  crowd  in  the  South." 

"But  you  could  not  have  thought  that  right.  Squire,"  she 
interposed. 

"  Well,  now,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that,  madam.  You 
see,  you  are  blaming  a  whole  people  whom  we  are  bound  to 
admit  were,  in  the  main,  honest  in  what  they  did.  If  any  one 
believed  slavery  to  be  a  divinely  appointed  and  ordained  insti- 
tution, I  can  not  see  how  he  could  do  otherwise." 

"If!"  she  said  hotly.  "Do  you  suppose  there  were  any 
such  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly,"  he  answered  seriously,  —  "many  thousands 
of  them,  and  are  to-day.  In  fact,  you  may  say  that  the  bulk  of 
the  Southern  people  believed  it  then,  and  believe  it  now.  They 
regard  the  abolition  of  slavery  only  as  a  temporary  triumph  of 
fanaticism  over  divine  truth.  They  do  not  believe  the  negro 
intended  or  designed  for  any  other  sphere  in  life.  They  may 
think  the  relation  was  abused  by  bad  masters  and  speculators 
and  all  that,  and  consequently  God  permitted  its  overthrow ; 
but  they  have  no  idea  that  he  will  permit  the  permanent  estab- 
lishment of  any  system  which  does  not  retain  the  African  in  a 
subordinate  and  servile  relation." 


74  A   FOOVS  ERRAXD. 

"But  you  do  not  believe  any  such  horrible  doctrine,  Squire?  * 
she  could  not  help  asking  quickly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  he  answered  politely  enough: 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  believe.  I  have  been  a  slaveholder  from 
my  youth,  and  ever  since  I  could  remember  have  heard  the 
institution  of  slavery  referred  to  in  the  pulpit  and  in  religious 
conversations,  not  so  much  as  a  thing  that  might  be  proved  to 
be  holy,  but  which  was  incontestably  divine  in  its  origin  and 
character,  just  as  much  as  marriage,  or  any  other  Christian 
institution.  I  don't  think  a  minister  who  had  a  doubt  upon 
that  subject  could  have  found  any  market  for  his  religion  here. 
Until  the  war  was  over,  I  think,  if  there  was  any  one  thing  that 
I  believed  stronger  and  clearer  and  firmer  than  another,  it  was 
that  niggers  were  made  for  slaves  ;  and  cotton,  terbacker,  sugar- 
cane, an'  rice,  were  made  for  them  to  raise,  and  could  not  be 
raised  in  any  other  way.  Now  I'm  most  ready  to  say  that  I'll 
be  dog-goned  if  I  know  what  I  do  believe.  I  know  the  niggers 
are  free,  and,  for  all  I  can  see,  they  are  likely  to  stay  so ;  but 
what's  to  come  on't  I  don't  know." 

"My  husband,"  said  she,  "thinks  they  will  remain  so,  and 
become  valuable  citizens,  and  that  the  Southern  people  have 
actually  gained  by  the  war  more  than  emancipation  cost  them  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  he:  ''I've  heard  the  colonel  talk, 
and  what  he  says  looks  mighty  plausible  too.  I  think  it's  that 
has  had  a  heap  to  do  with  unsettlin'  my  faith.  However,  I  do 
wish  he  would  be  more  keerful.  He  don't  seem  to  realize  that 
he's  among  a  people  who  ain't  used  to  his  free  and  easy  ways  of 
talking  about  every  thing.  I'm  afraid  he'll  get  into  trouble. 
I  know  he  means  well,  but  he  is  so  inconsiderate." 

"  He's  not  used  to  hiding  his  opinions,"  she  said  with  some- 
thing of  pride. 

"  Xo,"  he  answered ;  "  nor  are  those  he  is  among  used  to 
having  their  pet  notions  assailed  in  that  manner.  I'm  afraid 
there'll  be  trouble.  I  was  anxious  to  see  him  to-day,  an'  talk 
with  him  about  it;  but  I  shall  have  to  come  again.  Mean- 
time, if  you'll  let  me  take  these  books,  I'll  read  'em  carefully, 
an'  perhaps  find  some  way  out  of  my  dilemma." 


«  WHO  IS  MY  NEIGHBOR  ?  "  75 

"  Certainly,"  she  said.  "  We  have  no  books  that  our  neigh- 
bors are  not  welcome  to  read,  believe  or  disbelieve,  aocept  or 
refute,  as  they  may  see  fit.  We  practice  what  we  preach, 
Squire." 

"I  believe  that,  madam,"  said  he,  as  he  stooped  for  his  hat 
and  stick;  "an'  I  believe  you're  very  much  in  earnest,  both  in 
preachin' an' practicin'.  Oh!  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  added  sud- 
denly, "my  son  Jesse,  he's  heard  the  colonel  speak  once  cr 
twice,  an'  he's  clean  carried  away  with  him.  Says  he's  j^ot 
more  sense  than  anybody  he  ever  heard  talk  about  such  mat- 
ters. He's  quite  took  up  that  notion  you  spoke  of  a  while 
ago,  —  that  freein'  the  slaves  is  the  best  thing  that's  ever 
happened  for  the  white  folks  of  the  South.  Maybe  he's  right, 
but  it  sounds  right  queer  to  hear  him  talk  so.  He's  like  you 
say,  though,  —  practicin'  what  he  preaches,  an'  is  going  in  to 
work  as  if  he'd  been  raised  to  it  all  his  life.  It  looks  hard,  and 
sounds  queer;  but  maybe  he's  right.  Good-evening,  ma'am! 
Tell  the  colonel  I'm  right  sorry  he  was  not  at  home.  I'll  come 
again  when  I've  read  these  through,"  —  touching  the  books 
with  his  j)ipe,  —  "  an'  hope  I  may  catch  him  then." 

Servosse  was  not  quite  pleased  when  his  wife  told  him  that 
night  of  what  she  had  done.  He  had  been  very  careful  not  to 
give  any  fust  ground  of  offense,  as  he  thought,  to  their  neigh- 
bors. While  he  did  not  hesitate  to  avow  his  opinions  upon  any 
question  of  present  interest,  he  did  not  think  it  well  to  open 
the  controversies  of  the  past,  and  had  studiously  avoided  all 
reference  to  them,  unless  it  became  necessary  in  considering 
the  present.  He  did  not  say  much,  however  ;  and  when,  a  few 
nights  afterwards,  the  Squire  came  over  to  return  the  books, 
the  Fool  was  rather  glad  she  had  loaned  them. 

The  old  man  had  evidently  come  for  a  chat.  One  could  see 
that  as  he  laid  down  his  hat  and  stick,  filled  his  pipe,  and  drew 
up  his  chair  to  the  corner  of  the  wide  fireplace,  in  which  the 
dry  hickory  and  black-jack  was  blazing  brightly,  and  coaxed 
their  little  golden-haired  pet  to  sit  beside  him. 

"  Well,  Colonel,"  he  said,  after  he  had  chatted  a  while  with 
the  child,  "I've  brought  back  the  books  I  borrowed  of  the 
madam  the  other  day." 


'^6  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

"So  I  see,"  laughed  Servosse.  "Well,  I  hope  you  enjoyed 
reading  them  ?  " 

"That  I  did,  Colonel,"  he  answered,  —  "more,  I  suppose. 
than  you  would  ever  imagine  that  I  could." 

"Indeed!"  said  Servosse.  "I  was  half  afraid  they  would 
make  you  so  angry  that  you  would  feel  like  visiting  your  dis- 
pleasure on  me." 

"Xo,  indeed!"  said  the  old  man  with  a  sort  of  chuckle. 
"  I  had  no  notion  of  being  angry  ;  though,  now  I  come  to  think 
on't,  I  can't  imagine  why  I  am  not.  There's  certainly  hard 
things  enough  in  those  books  about  me  and  my  people  to  make 
any  man  mad.  But  the  truth  is.  Colonel,  it  seems  to  be  all 
about  the  past, — what  is  all  over  and  done  with  now,  —  so 
that  I  seem  to  be  reading  of  somebody  else,  and  some  other 
time  than  my  own.  Do  you  know.  Colonel,  that  I  never  read 
any  '  abolition '  books  before,  only  some  of  the  milder  sort  ? 
and  I  am  of  the  notion  now,  that  our  folks  made  a  mistake  in 
keeping  them  out  of  the  South.  I  was  a  little  surprised  when 
the  madam  here,"  —  waving  his  hand  gallantly  towards  Metta, 
—  "  asked  me  if  any  one  really  believed  in  slavery.  If  it  had 
been  you,  I  should  have  asked  if  any  one  really  believed  in 
*  abolitionism.'  But  I  am  satisfied  that  the  people  who  wrote 
those  books  believed  what  they  were  writing ;  and  it  does  seem 
as  if  they  had  good  reason  to  do  so.  It's  a  thousand  pities  we 
couldn't  have  talked  these  things  over,  and  have  come  to  the 
right  understanding  of  them  without  this  terrible  war." 

"  That  was  quite  impossible,  Squire,"  said  Servosse.  "  We 
could  never  have  agreed.  I  have  learned  enough  of  the  former 
state  of  affairs  here  already  to  see  that.  Each  party  distrusted 
the  other's  sincerity,  and  despised  the  other's  knowledge.  War 
was  inevitable :  sooner  or  later  it  must  have  come.  Why,  even 
now  we  can  not  agree  in  regard  to  the  incidents  flowing  from 
emancipation,  —  the  mere  corollaries  of  the  problem  God  has 
wrought  out  for  us  in  the  blood  of  our  best." 

"  That's  true,  too  true,"  sighed  the  old  man.  "  And  it's 
curious  too.  It's  all  common  sense  at  the  last.  Why  can't  W9 
agree  to  hunt  together  until  we  find  it? " 

"  It  seems  to  be  human  nature,  Squire." 


"WHO  IS  MY  NEIGHBOR?'*  77 

"  That's  it,  Colonel ;  an'  when  you've  said  that  you've  said  all. 
"We  can't  go  no  further,  nor  learn  any  more.  It's  human  nature, 
and  there's  no  more  use  of  asking  questions  of  human  nature 
than  of  an  owl.  'What'  and  'why'  are  things  that  don't 
concern  human  nature.  It  don't  care  no  more  for  reason  than 
a  mule  does  for  persuasion.  Human  nature  is  a  sullen,  obsti- 
nate, unreasonable  brute;  but  it  always  has  its  own  way  with 
all  on  us.  Ain't  that  so,  Colonel  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  self-appre- 
ciative chuckle. 

"Just  so,  Squire,"  replied  Servosse.  "And  almost  alwaj^s 
disappointing  too.  Now,  I  can  not  see  why  the  South  should 
not  have  seen  its  own  interest  to  have  lain  in  the  way  of  grad- 
ual emancipation  long  ago." 

"  The  very  idea  I  was  going  to  advance  as  to  the  Xorth," 
laughed  the  old  man.  "  I  never  could  make  out  what  interest 
they  had  in  the  matter  at  all.  jSTow,  the  people  who  wrote 
those  books  I  can  understand.  With  them  it  was  a  principle, 
a  religious  idea.  They  thought  it  was  a  wrong  and  a  sin 
which  they  would  do  God's  service  to  exterminate.  They  are 
what  we  call  'fanatics.'  No  one  can  blame  them,  only  for  not 
crediting  us  with  like  sincerity.  They  might  have  done  that, 
I  should  suppose.  They  made  too  much,  too,  out  of  the  abuses 
of  slavery.  It  teas  abused,  —  no  doubt  of  that,  —  and  many  bad 
things  done  by  bad  men  under  cover  of  it ;  but  they  might 
have  credited  us  with  honesty,  at  least.  We  were  not  all  bad, 
nor  all  cruel  and  unjust.  Some  of  us  thought  the  master's 
relation  one  of  divine  duty;  and  others,  who  weren't  quite  so 
clear  upon  that  point,  or  didn't  care  so  much  whether  it  was 
true  or  not,  felt  that  the  institution  was  on  our  hands,  had 
come  to  be  there  lawfully,  and  we  didn't  see  how  we  were  to 
get  rid  of  it  without  immense  loss  and  sacrifice.  So  we  just 
let  it  float  along.  But  we  were  not  hard  masters,  nor  cruel 
owners.  We  did  feel  bound  to  protect  the  institution.  Not 
only  our  interests,  but  the  safety  of  society  as  we  honestly 
thought,  depended  on  its  continuance,  unimpaired  and  per- 
fect, until  something  else  should  take  its  place,  at  least.  As 
long  as  the  nigger  was  here,  we  were  all  satisfied  that  he  must 


fS  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND, 

be  a  slave.  A  gooci  many  of  us  thought  it  would  not  be  any 
injury  if  they  could  all  be  lemoved  somewhere  else," 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Servosse.  "And  it  is  not 
surprising,  either,  that  you  should  have  felt  so,  or  that  those 
who  wrote  these  books  should  have  misconceived  your  motive. 
Slavery  did  two  things  which  naturally  prevented  such  knowl- 
edge from  being  obtained  :  it  excluded  the  stranger  from  its 
inner  sanctuary  with  rigorous  care,  and  persecuted  with  un- 
sparing severity  all  who  rejected  its  dogmas." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  laughed  the  Squire.  "  You  and  I  are  get- 
ting back  to  human  nature  again  in  our  anxiety  to  excuse  our 
respective  sides.  But  do  you  know  I  have  a  still  greater 
reason  for  being  angry,  after  reading  one  of  those  books,  on  my 
own  personal,  individual  account? — I,  Xathaniel  HymanV" 

"  Xo,  indeed,  I  did  not,"  said  Servosse.  "You  are  not  one  of 
the  characters,  are  you  ?  " 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  am,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  not  cast  in 
a  very  enviable  role,  either.  Besides,  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  the 
author  takes  pains  to  write  a  note  about  the  matter,  and  tell 
everybody  who  was  meant  to  be  represented  by  the  character. 
Hadn't  you  noticed  it  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  it,"  said  Servosse,  flushing.  "  I  have  never 
read  the  book  since  it  first  came  out,  and  had  then  no  personal 
interest  in  the  individual  characters." 

"  Xo,  of  course  not,"  assented  Hyman  ;  "  though  I  did  think 
the  madam's  hesitation  the  other  day  might  have  sprung  from 
that.  I'd  heard  of  the  fact  before,  and  was  anxious  to  see  if  it 
were  true.     That's  why  I  wanted  to  read  the  book." 

Metta  assured  him  that  she  had  no  knowledge  of  it,  and  he 
continued,  — 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  mind  it,  though  one  hardly  likes 
to  go  down  to  posterity  as  one  of  the  black  sheep  of  his  day. 
The  affair  of  which  so  much  is  made  was  a  very  trifling  matter, 
and  I  had  mighty  little  to  do  with  it,  at  best." 

Then  he  read  aloud  the  passage  and  the  note,  and  explained  : 
"Now,  the  whole  matter  was  this.  There  were  a  couple  of 
Northei-n  ministers,  —  Wesleyans,  I  believe  they  called  them- 


"TF//0  IS  MY  NEIGHBOR?"  79 

selves,  — who  couldn't  make  out  to  hold  their  tongues,  but  were 
a-spoutin'  an'  argyfyiu'  around  here  as  if  the  Lord  hadn't  given 
them  any  instructions,  only  to  abuse  and  denounce  slaveholders 
and  slavery.  I  went  to  hear  'em  once  or  twice  just  to  satisfy 
myself.  They  were  very  imprudent  and  very  intemperate.  I 
spoke  to  one  of  them  after  meeting  was  out  that  day,  an'  told 
him  so.  He  wouldn't  listen  at  all,  but  rattled  off  more  Scripture 
at  me  than  I  ever  heard  in  the  same  time  from  any  body  else  on 
earth.  I  didn't  quarrel  with  him  (you  know  I  never  quarrel 
with  anybody,  Colonel),  an'  I  presume  I  did  tell  him  I  was  his 
friend.  I'm  everybody's  friend,  an'  always  have  been.  I  didn't 
want  him  to  get  into  no  trouble,  an'  didn't  want  no  harm  to 
come  to  him.  That's  all  true,  an'  I've  no  doubt  I  said  so  to 
him.  But  I  did  not  approve  his  doctrine,  nor  sympathize  with 
his  sentiments;  nor  did  I  tell  him  so,  though  he  says  I  did  in  the 
note.  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  probably  told  him  I 
was  a  magistrate,  which  was  true,  and  that  I  was  afraid  of 
trouble,  which  was  equally  true.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  am  of 
the  notion  that  I  told  him  he  had  better  not  preach  at  the  Level 
Cross.  If  I  didn't,  I  ought  to  have  done  so ;  for,  if  they  had  gone 
into  that  neighborhood,  they  would  have  been  strung  up  to  a 
tree,  certain.  Anyhow,  the  appointment  was  changed  to  Shallow 
Ford  meeting-house  for  the  next  Sunday.  That  is  true,  an'  I 
presume  it  was  on  my  warning.  Now,  I  am  represented  as 
doing  all  this  to  get  these  men  into  my  power.  I  swear  to  you, 
Colonel,  it's  false.  I  hadn't  such  an  idea.  I  thought  they 
were  fools,  and  think  so  yet;  but  I  hadn't  any  malice  or  harm 
against  them  in  the  world.  But  as  it  happened,  without 
any  knowledge  or  advisement  of  mine,  directly  or  indirectly, 
the  next  Sunday  morning,  when  the  meeting  was  to  be  at 
Shallow  Ford,  there  came  by  my  house  a  party  of  gentlemen 
going  on  to  Level  Cross,  to  hear  the  Wesleyans,  they  said.  I 
told  them  they  were  on  the  wrong  road,  just  as  a  matter  of 
politeness,  you  know  ;  and  they  came  on  up  to  the  fox-k  of  the 
road  above  your  place  here,  and  took  over  to  Shallow  Ford, 
sure  enough.  After  they  had  been  gone  about  an  hour  or  so,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  they  might  be  bent  on  mischief.     I  don't 


80  A  FOOUS  ERRAXD. 

say  I  might  not  have  done  just  the  same  if  I  had  known  theil 
errand  ;  but  as  a  fact  I  did  not,  and  never  suspected  it  till  af ter- 
wards." 

"  Well,"  asked  Servosse,  "  is  the  rest  of  the  incident  true,  — 
that  about  dragging  the  ministers  from  the  pulpit,  bucking  them 
across  a  log,  jfnd  beating  them  V  " 

"  Weil,  I  heard  afterwards  that  they  did  break  up  the  meet- 
ing, and  give  the  preachers  a  little  brushing.  They  might  have 
bucked  'em  across  a  log;  more'n  likely  they  did:  it's  a  powerful 
handy  way  to  larrup  a  man.  I  don't  allow,  though,  that  it  was 
any  thing  like  so  severe  as  it's  represented  in  the  book,  though 
no  doubt  the  preachers  thought  it  pretty  rough.  I  s'pose 
they  weren't  used  to  it — perhaps  thought  their  cloth  would  save 
them.  I  understand  they  got  away  powerful  quick  after  that, 
not  waiting  for  any  repetition  of  the  dose,  which  was  about  the 
only  sensible  thing  they  did  do." 

The  old  man  told  it  wdth  twinkling  eyes,  and  an  evident 
relish  of  the  whole  proceeding. 

"I  have  always  had  some  doubt  in  regard  to  these  incidents," 
said  Servosse,  "and  am  glad  to  have  this  confirmed  by  one  who 
was  an  actor  in  it ;  but  you  don't  j^retend  to  j  ustif y  such  pro- 
ceedings, Squire?" 

"  Well,  now.  Colonel,  I  don't  really  see  what  there  is  to  make 
such  a  fuss  about,"  said  Hyman.  "  Here  was  a  peaceable  com- 
munity, living  under  the  protection  of  the  Constitution  and  laws 
of  the  country ;  and  these  men,  who  had  no  business  or  interest 
here,  came  among  us,  and  advocated  doctrines,  which,  if  adopted, 
would  have  destroyed  the  constitution  of  our  society,  and  per- 
haps have  endangered  our  lives  and  families.  Such  doctrines 
lead  at  once  and  naturally  to  insurrection  among  the  blacks, 
and  threatened  us  with  all  the  horrors  of  San  Domingo.  I 
must  say.  Colonel,  I  think  the  gentlemen  were  very  lenient  and 
forbearing,  when  they  only  striped  the  preachers'  backs  a  little, 
instead  of  stretching  their  necks,  as  would  have  been  done  in 
any  less  peaceable  community  under  like  provocation." 

"It  is  just  such  intolerance  as  this,  Squire,  which  makes  it 
next  to  impossible  for  the  South  to  accept  its  present  situation. 


''WHO  IS  MY  NEIGHBOR?"  81 

You  all  want  to  shoot,  whip,  hang,  and  burn  those  who  do  not 
agree  with  you.  It  is  all  the  fruit  and  outcome  of  two  hundred 
years  of  slavery:  in  fact,  it  is  part  and  parcel  of  it,"  said 
Servosse. 

"  But  you  don't  think  those  men  had  any  right  to  come  here, 
and  preach  such  dangerous  doctrines,  do  you? "  asked  his 
neighbor  in  surprise. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Comfort :  "  why  not?  " 
"  Why  not?  "  echoed  the  Squire.     "  Why,  it  seems  to  me  the 
most  evident   thing   on    earth  that  every  community  has    an 
undoubted  right  to  protect  itself.     That  is  all  we  did,  —  pro- 
tected ourselves  and  our  institutions." 

"  Protected  yourselves  against  your  institutions,  more  properly," 
said  Servosse.  "That  is  the  very  strength  of  the  abolitionists' 
position.  Squire.  Xo  community  has  any  right  to  have,  cherish, 
or  protect  any  institution  which  can  not  bear  the  light  of  reason 
and  free  discussion." 

"  But,  suppose  they  do  tolerate  such  an  institution,  does  that 
give  one  a  right  to  bring  a  firebrand  among  them?  Are  not 
they  the  proper  judges  of  what  is  the  correct  thing  for  their 
own  good,  —  the  keepers  of  their  own  consciences?  " 

'•  It  is  useless  to  discuss  the  matter,"  said  Servosse.  "  The 
arguments  you  use  are  the  arguments  of  intolerance  and  big- 
otry in  all  ages.  Even  men  who  wish  to  be  liberal-minded, 
like  you,  Squire,  are  blinded  by  them.  You  thought  it  was 
fa-ir  to  whip  those  ministers  for  preaching  what  they  deemed 
God's  word,  because  the  bulk  of  the  community  did  not  agree 
with  them.  That  was  the  very  argument  which  would  have 
been  used  to  justify  Tom  Savage  and  the  others,  if  they  had 
succeeded  in  giving  me  a  flagellation  a  while  ago,  as  they 
attempted  to  do.  The  principle  is  the  same.  I  had  disagreed 
with  my  neighbors,  and  advocated  strange  doctrines.  By  your 
Reasoning  they  had  a  right  to  suppress  me  by  violence,  or  even 
by  murder  if  need  be." 

"  Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  h^e.  Colonel ! "  said  the  Squire. 
"Yes,  it  is  just  as  bad  as  that;  and  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
neighbor  Ilyman,"   said   Servosse,  "the  most  dangerous   and 


82  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

difficult  element  of  the  future,  at  the  South,  is  this  irrepressible 
intolerance  of  the  opinions  of  others.  You  deem  disagree- 
ment an  insult,  and  opposition  a  crime,  which  justifies  any 
enormity.     It  will  bring  bitter  fruit,  and  you  will  see  it." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !  "  said  the  old  man  lightly.  "  I  want  to  get 
along  peaceably  now,  and  I  am  sure  our  people  want  to  do  the 
same.  We  may  be  a  little  hot-blooded,  and  all  that ;  but  we 
are  not  mean.  We  are  poor  now, — have  lost  every  thing  but 
honor ;  and  I  hope  we  shall  not  lose  that.  But  I  must  be 
going.  By  the  way,  if  you  should  be  writing  to  any  of  your 
friends  at  the  Xorth,  9,nd  should  think  of  mentioning  Nathan- 
iel Hyman,  I  wish  you  would  just  say  that  he  never  practiced 
any  deception  on  the  ministers,  and  was  not  responsible  for 
the  licking  they  got,  directly  nor  indirectly.  Good-evening, 
ma'am." 

He  lighted  his  pipe,  and  went  home,  evidently  thinking  that 
his  connection  with  this  ante  bellum  barbarity  had  somehow 
increased  his  importance  in  the  eyes  of  his  new  neighbors. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

THE    EDGE    OF    HOSPITALITY   DULLED. 

From  the  day  of  his  speech  in  the  grove,  the  new  proprietor 
of  Warrington  was  a  marked  man  in  the  community.  He  was 
regarded  as  an  "abolitionist"  and  an  incendiary.  While  his 
neighbors  did  not  seem  to  have  towards  him  any  especial  dis- 
trust in  their  personal  intercourse,  and  generally  met  him  with 
affability,  yet  he  gradually  became  aware  that  a  current  of  won- 
derful strength  was  setting  against  him.  He  became  an  object 
of  remark  at  public  assemblies ;  the  newspaper  at  Verdenton 
had  every  now  and  then  slighting  allusions  to  him ;  and  the 
idea  was  industriously  circulated  that  he  was  somehow  con- 
nected—  identified — with  "Yankee  power,"  and  had  been  sent 


THE   EDGE   OF  HOSPITALITY  DULLED.       83 

to  the  South  for  some  sinister  motire.  He  was  not  one  of 
them.  He  represented  another  civilization,  another  develop- 
ment, of  which  they  were  naturally  suspicious,  and  especially  sd 
on  account  of  the  peculiar  restrictions  which  slaveiy  had  put 
around  them,  and  which  had  acted  as  an  embargo  on  immigra 
tion  for  so  many  years  before  the  war. 

The  intercourse  between  his  family  and  those  who  constitute 
what  was  termed  "good  society"  gradually  dwindled,  without 
actual  rudeness  or  tangible  neglect,  until  the  few  country- 
people  who  "neighbored  with  them,"  as  it  \^  termed  there, 
comprised  their  only  society,  if  we  except  the  tea-^hers  of  the 
colored  school  and  the  few  Northern  families  in  the  town. 

Now  and  then  this  feeling  of  hereditary  aversion  for  tho 
Yankee  manifested  itself  unpleasantly ;  but  it  was  usually  only 
an  undemonstrative,  latent  feeling,  which  was  felt  rather  thaiA 
seen  in  those  with  whom  he  associated  in  business  or  ( therwise, 
until  the  first  year  had  passed  away,  and  the  crops  had  been 
gathered. 

Little  attention  had  been  paid  to  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
chosen  to  build  houses  and  sell  lands  to  the  colored  people,  —  if 
being  perhaps  regarded  as  merely  a  visionary  idea  of  the  Yan' 
kee  abolitionist.  When,  how^ever,  the  crops  were  harvested, 
and  some  of  these  men  became  owners  of  horses  and  houses  in 
their  own  right,  it  seemed  all  at  once  to  awaken  general  atten- 
tion. One  night  a  gang  of  disguised  ruflians  burst  upon  th^ 
little  settlement  of  colored  men,  beat  and  cruelly  outraged  some, 
took  the  horses  of  two,  and  cut  and  mangled  those  belonging 
to  others. 

When  the  Fool  arose  the  next  morning,  he  found  the  follow- 
ing attached  to  his  door-knob,  WTapped  in  a  piece  of  black  cloth 
on  which  was  traced  in  white  paint  a  death's-head  and  cross- 
bones  above  the  figure  of  a  coffin :  — 

"  Colonel  Comfort  Skrvosse.  ,S7r,  — You  hev  got  to  leave  this 
country,  and  the  quicker  you  do  it  the  better;  fer  you  ain't  safe  here, 
nor  enny  other  miserable  Yankee!  You  come  here  to  put  niggers 
over  white  folks,  sayin  ez  how  they  should  vote  and  set  on  juries  and 
sware  away  white  folkes  rites  as  much  as  they  damm  please.    You 


84  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

are  backin  up  this  notion  by  a  sellin  of  em  land  and  bosses  and 
mules,  till  tbey  are  gittin  so  big  in  tber  boots  tbey  cant  rest.  You've 
bin  warned  that  sech  things  wont  be  born;  but  you  jes  go  on  ez  if 
ther  want  nobody  else  on  arth.  Now,  we've  jes  made  up  our  minds 
not  to  Stan  it  enny  longer.  AVe've  been  and  larned  yer  damm  nig- 
gers better  manners  than  to  be  a  ridin  hossback  when  white  folks  is 
walkin.  The  Regulators  hez  met,  and  decided  thet  no  nigger  shant 
be  allowed  to  own  no  boss  nor  run  no  crop  on  his  own  account  here- 
arter.  And  no  nigger-worshipin  Yankee  spy  thet  encourages  them 
in  their  insolense  shel  live  in  the  county.  Now,  sir,  we  gives  you 
three  days  to  git  away.  Ef  your  here  when  that  time's  over,  the 
buzzards  wil  hev  a  bait  thats  been  right  scarce  since  the  war  was 
over.  You  may  think  wes  foolin.  Other  people  hez  made  thet  mis- 
take to  ther  sorrer.  Ef  you  don't  want  to  size  a  coffin  jest  yit  you 
better  git  a  ticket  that  will  take  you  towards  the  North  Star  jes  ez 
far  ez  the  roads  been  cut  out. 

"  By  order  of 

"  The  Capten-q  of  the  Regulators." 

The  Fool  at  once  published  this  letter  in  "  The  Yerdenton 
Gazette,"  with  a  short,  sturdy  answer,  sa3'ing  that  he  was 
minding  his  own  business,  and  expected  other  people  to  mind 
theirs.  lie  paid  for  it  as  an  advertisement,  —  the  only  terms 
on  which  the  editor  would  admit  it  to  his  columns.  This  pro- 
ceeding, which  in  the  North  or  in  any  other  State  of  society 
would  have  awakened  the  liveliest  indignation  towards  those 
wiio  thus  attempted  to  drive  him  away  from  his  home,  as  well 
as  a  strong  sympathy  for  him,  had  no  such  effect  upon  this 
community.  Many  openly  approved  the  course  of  the  mob; 
others  faintly  condemned;  and  no  one  took  any  steps  to  prevent 
the  consummation  of  the  outrage  threatened.  No  one  seemed 
to  think  that  the  Fool  was  entitled  to  any  support  or  sympa- 
thy. That  he  should  sell  land  to  colored  men,  and  assist  them 
to  purchase  stock,  was  considered  by  nearly  the  entire  commu- 
nity as  an  offense  deserving  the  worst  punishment;  and  that 
he  should  go  farther,  and  publicly  favor  their  enfranchisement, 
was  such  a  gross  outrage  upon  the  feelings  and  prejudices  of 
the  whites,  that  many  seemed  much  surprised  that  any  warn- 
ing at  all  had  been  given  by  the  "  Regulators." 

The  one  most  interested,  however,  was  not  idle.     He  pro- 


THE   SECOND  MILE  POST.  85 

cured  arms  and  ammunition,  and  prepared  for  the  defense  of 
his  life  and  property,  and  the  protection  of  his  tenants  and 
those  to  whom  he  had  sold.  A  stockade  was  built  for  the 
horses  in  a  favorable  position,  a  guard  provided,  and  signals 
agreed  on  in  case  of  an  attack.  The  commandant  of  the 
troops  at  a  neighboring  station  sent  a  small  detachment,  which 
remained  for  a  few  days,  and  was  then  withdrawn.  They  had 
not  been  required  by  the  owner  of  Warrington ;  but  the  rumor 
went  out  that  he  had  called  for  troops  to  protect  him,  and  the 
feeling  grew  day  by  day  more  hostile  towards  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE    SECOXD   MILE   POST. 

When  the  second  Christmas  came,  Metta  wrote  again  to  her 

sister :  — 

"  Deak  Julia,  —  It  is  more  than  a  year  since  I  wrote  you  my 
first  letter  from  our  Southern  home.  Alas!  except  for  the  improve- 
ments we  have  made  in  Warrington,  and  the  increased  sense  of 
homeliness  wliich  we  feel  in  our  inanimate  surroundings,  it  is 
hardly  any  more  like  home  than  it  was  then.  Comfort  has  been 
very  busy.  He  has  put  quite  a  new  face  on  Warrington,  which  is 
more  delightful  than  any  description  could  convey  to  you.  Almost 
every  day  he  is  out  superintending  and  directing  the  work,  and, 
Yankee-like,  *  doing  right  smart  of  it '  himself,  as  they  say  here. 
This,  with  the  delightful  climate  and  my  care, —  for  I  must  have 
some  of  the  credit,  —  has  transformed  my  invalid  husband  into  a 
cheerful,  stalwart  man,  who  seems  to  be  in  constant  enjoyment  of 
life. 

"  Most  of  my  time  is  occupied  with  teaching  our  little  daughter, 
or  rather  coaxing  her  to  learn,  for  she  is  the  most  strangely » willful 
child  in  this  respect  you  ever  saw.  I  am  taking  much  pains  with 
her,  and  she  is  making  wonderful  progress  in  a  peculiar  sort  of  a 
way.  She  is  out  with  her  father  on  the  plantation  a  great  deal,  and, 
as  a  result,  knows  the  name  of  every  tree  and  flower,  wild  or  cuita- 


86  A   FOOLS  ERRAND. 

vated,  which  grows  about  Warrington.  She  has  either  inherited  o? 
acquired  that  wonderful  power  of  observation  whicli  Comfort  has, 
and  is  already  better  versed  in  some  branches  of  knowledge  than  I 
am  likely  ever  to  be. 

"  This,  with  my  few  household  cares,  and  the  enjoyment  of  rides, 
walks,  and  all  sorts  of  excursions,  makes  up  my  life.  Mere  exist, 
ence  here  is  a  constant  joy.  The  sunshine  is  brighter,  the  moon- 
light softer,  the  sky  fairer,  the  earth  more  seductive,  than  in  the  old 
home.  There  is  a  sort  of  intoxication  in  it  all,  —  the  flowers,  coming 
at  odd  times  and  with  unwonted  richness  and  profusion;  the  trees, 
of  a  strangely  charming  outline  and  foliage,  making  forest  and 
grove,  which  have  always  some  sort  of  weird  charm,  so  different 
from  what  we  ever  knew  at  the  North;  and  over  all  the  balmy 
air. 

"  And  yet  we  miss  our  friends,  —  ah!  sadly  enough,  — for  we  have 
none  here,  and  somehow  can  not  make  any.  I  am  sure  no  one  ever 
came  to  a  new  home  with  kindlier  feelings  for  all  who  might  sur- 
round us  than  we  did.  You  know  Comfort  would  not  hear  a  word 
about  trouble  with  the  people  here.  He  would  insist  that  they  were 
a  brave,  genial  people  ;  that  the  war  was  over;  and  that  everybody 
would  be  better  friends  hereafter  from  its  having  occurred.  He  has 
found  out  his  mistake.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  no  real  friends 
here.  There  are  some,  perhaps,  who  think  well  of  us,  and,  no 
doubt,  wish  us  well  in  the  main  ;  but  they  are  not  friends.  Some- 
how it  seems  that  the  old  distrust  and  dislike  of  Northern  people 
will  not  let  them  be  friendly  and  confiding  with  us  ;  or  perhaps 
the  fault  may  be  with  us.  We  are  so  different,  have  been  reared 
under  such  different  influences,  and  have  such  different  thoughts, 
that  it  does  not  seem  as  if  we  should  ever  get  nearer  to  them. 

"You  heard  about  our  trouble  with  the  'Regulators.'  Comfort 
got  a  lot  of  guns  and  ammunition  for  the  colored  men,  and  made 
preparations  to  fight  in  good  earnest  ;  but  they  have  not  disturbed 
us  since.  Mr.  Savage  sent  them  word  that  they  could  not  hurt  us 
until  they  had  killed  him,  and  came  over  and  staid  with  us  some 
weeks.  I  think  it  was  his  influence  which  saved  us  from  further 
attack. 

"  The  feeling  is  terribly  bitter  against  Comfort  on  account  of  his 
course  towards  the  colored  people.  There  is  quite  a  village  of  them 
on  the  lower  end  of  the  plantation.  Tliey  have  a  chunh,  a  sabbath 
school,  and  are  to  have  next  year  a  school.  You  can  not  imagine 
how  kind  they  have  been  to  us,  and  how  much  they  are  attached  to 
Comfort.  They  are  having  a  '  tracted  meeting,'  as  they  call  it,  now 
I  got  Comfort  to  go  with  me  to  one  of  their  prayer-meetings  a  few 


THE  SECOND  MILE  POST.  87 

niglits  ago.  I  had  heard  a  great  deal  ahout  them,  but  had  never 
attended  one  before.  It  was  strangelj'^  weird.  There  were,  perhaps, 
fifty  present,  mostly  middle-aged  men  and  women.  They  were 
singing,  in  a  soft,  low  monotone,  interspersed  with  prolonged  ex- 
clamatory notes,  a  sort  of  rude  hymn,  which  I  was  surin-ised  to 
know  was  one  of  their  old  songs  in  slave  times.  How  the  chorus 
came  to  be  endured  in  those  days  I  can  not  imagine.    It  was  — 

•Free!  free!  free,  my  Lord,  free! 
An'  we  walks  de  hebben-ly  way  ! ' 

•'  A  few  looked  around  as  we  came  in  and  seated  ourselves;  and 
Uncle  Jerry,  the  saint  of  the  settlement,  came  forward  on  his  staves, 
and  said,  in  his  soft  voice,  — 

"'Ev'nin',  Kunnel !  Sarvant,  Missus!  Will  you  walk  up,  an' 
hev  seats  in  front  ?  ' 

"  We  told  him  we  had  just  looked  in,  and  might  go  in  a  short 
time;  so  we  would  stay  in  the  back  part  of  the  audience. 

"  Uncle  Jerry  can  not  read  nor  write  ;  but  he  is  a  man  of  strange 
intelligence  and  power.  Unable  to  do  work  of  any  account,  he  is  the 
faithful  friend,  monitor,  and  director  of  others.  He  has  a  house 
and  piece  of  land,  all  paid  for,  a  good  horse  and  cow,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  his  wife  and  two  boys,  made  a  fine  crop  this  season.  He  is 
one  of  the  most  promising  colored  men  in  the  settlement:  so  Com- 
fort says,  at  least.  Everybody  seems  to  have  great  respect  for  his 
character.  I  don't  know  how  many  people  I  have  heard  speak  of 
his  religion.  Mr.  Savage  used  to  say  he  had  rather  hear  him  pray 
than  any  other  man  on  earth.  He  was  much  prized  by  his  master, 
even  after  he  was  disabled,  on  account  of  his  faithfulness  and  char- 
acter. 

"  The  meeting  was  led  that  night  by  a  mulatto  man  named  Robert, 
who  was  what  is  now  called  an  '  old-issue  free  nigger  '  (freed  before 
the  war).  He  seemed  very  anxious  to  display  the  fact  that  he  could 
read,  and,  with  comical  itride,  blundered  through  '  de  free  hunner'n 
firty-fird  hjnnn,'  and  a  chapter  of  Scripture.  Some  of  his  comments 
on  passages  of  the  latter  were  ludicrously  apt.  '  I  indeed  baptize 
with  water;  but  he  that  conieth  after  me  shall  baptize  with  the 
Holy  Ghost  and  with  fire,'  he  read  with  difficulty.  '  Baptize  wid 
water,'  he  repeated  thoughtfully.  '  We  all  know  what  dat  is  ;  an' 
baptizin'  wid  de  Holy  Ghos',  dat's  what  we's  come  here  arter  to- 
night. ['  Amen  !  '  '  Bress  God  ! '  '  Dar  now  ! '  ]  But  baptizin'  wid 
fire  !  —  'clar,  brudderin'  an'  sisters,  it  allers  makes  my  har  stan' 
straight  tu  think  what  dat  ar  mnss  mean  !  Baptize  wid  fire  !  I 
spec'  dat's  de  tryin'  ob  de  gold  in  de  furnace,  — de  Lord's  furnace, 
—  dat  clars  out  all  de  dross,  but  muss  be  powerful  hot ! ' 


o«  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"  There  was  nothing  sj^ecial  then  for  some  time,  until  one  man 
began  weaving  back  and  forth  on  his  knees,  and  shouted,  in  a  voice 
which  might  haA'e  been  heard  a  mile,  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes, 
only  one  sentence  — '  Gather  'em  in  !  O  Lor',  gather  'em  in  !  Gather 
'em  in  !  O  Lor',  gather  'em  in  !  '  —  in  a  strange,  singing  tone,  the 
effect  of  which  upon  the  nerves  was  something  terrible.  Men  shout- 
ed, women  screamed.  Some  sprang  from  their  knees,  and  danced, 
shouting,  and  tossing  their  arms  about  in  an  unconscious  manner, 
reminding  me  of  what  I  had  read  of  the  dancing  dervishes  of  the 
Orient.  One  woman  fainted  ;  and  finally  the  see-sawing  shouter 
himself  fell  over.  Some  water  was  poured  on  his  head,  a  slow 
soothing  hymn  was  sung,  and  in  five  minutes  the  assemblage  was 
as  quiet  as  any  country  prayer-meeting  in  Michigan.  For  me,  I 
found  myself  clinging  to  Comfort's  arm  in  almost  hysterical  fright. 
I  begged  him  to  take  me  away,  but  am  very  glad  now  that  he  did 
not. 

"After  a  time  Uncle  Jerry  raised  his  head,  which  had  all  the 
time  been  bowed  upon  his  knees  since  the  meeting  began,  and, 
lifting  his  thin  hands  towards  the  people,  said,  in  a  soft,  clear 
voice,  — 

"  '  Let  us  all  kneel  down,  an'  pray,  —  one  mo'  short  pra'r  !  short 
pra'r  ! ' 

"He  knelt  with  his  face  towards  us.  The  guttered  candle  on 
the  rough  pine  table  threw  its  flickering  light  over  him,  as,  with 
upturned  face  and  clasping  hands,  he  'talked  with  God,'  oh,  how 
simj^ly  and  directly  !  And,  as  he  prayed,  a  strange  light  seemed  to 
come  over  his  brown  face,  set  in  its  white  frame  of  snowy  hair  and 
beard.  He  prayed  for  all,  except  himself,  and  seemed  to  bring  the 
cares  and  troubles  of  all  before  the  throne  of  grace,  as  if  he  had  the 
key  to  the  heart  of  each. 

"Then  he  came  to  pray  for  us,  —  'the  stranger  fren'  whom  God 
has  raised  up  an'  led,  in  his  myster'ous  way,  to  do  us  good,  —  bless 
him,  O  Lord,  in  basket  an'  sto',  heart  an'  home  !  He  don't  know 
what  he's  got  afo'  him  !  Stay  his  han',  an'  keep  him  strong  an' 
brave  ! '  But  I  can  never  reproduce  the  strange  tenderness  and 
faith  of  this  prayer.  I  leaned  my  head  on  Comfort's  shoulder,  and 
the  tears  fell  like  rain  as  I  listened.  All  at  once  there  was  silence. 
The  voice  of  prayer  had  ceased  ;  yet  the  prayer  did  not  seem  ended. 
I  raised  my  eyes,  and  looked.  Uncle  Jerry  still  knelt  at  his  chair, 
every  worshiper  still  kneeling  in  his  place;  but  every  head  was 
turned,  and  every  e3'e  was  fastened  on  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed  — 
on  what  ?  He  was  looking  upward,  as  if  he  saw  beyond  the  earth. 
His  face  was  set  in  rigid  lines,  yet  lighted  up  with  a  look  of  awful 


THE  SECOND  MILE  POST.  89 

Joy.  His  breath  came  slow  and  sobbingly;  hut,  aside  from  that, 
not  a  muscle  moved.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  ;  but  every  look  was 
fastened  on  him  with  hushed  and  fearful  expectancy. 

"  '  Hain't  bin  dat  way  but  once  afo'  sence  de  surrender,'  I  heard 
one  of  the  women  whisper,  under  her  breath,  to  another. 

"  Five  minutes  —  perhaps  ten  minutes  —  elapsed,  and  he  had  not 
spoken  or  moved.  It  was  fearful,  the  terrible  silence,  and  that 
fixed,  immovable  face  and  stony  figure  !  There  was  something 
preternatural  about  it. 

"At  length  there  came  a  quiver  about  the  lips.  The  eyes  lost 
their  fixity.  The  hands  which  had  rested  on  the  chair  were  clasped 
together,  and  a  look  of  divine  rapture  swept  across  the  upturned 
face,  as  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  fairly  burdened  with  ecstatic 
joy,— 

"  *  I  sees  Him!  I  sees  Him  /  Dar  He  is !  '  And  he  pointed,  with 
a  thin  and  trembling  hand,  towards  the  farther  corner  of  the  room. 
'  I  sees  Him  wid  de  crown  ob  salvation  on  His  head :  de  keys  o' 
hebben  a-hangin'  in  His  girdle,  —  God's  keys  for  de  white  pearl  gates, 
—  wid  de  bress-plate  ob  Holiness  an'  de  mantle  ob  Righteousness. 
Dah  He  is  a-walkin'  among  de  candlesticks  yit!  He's  a-comin' 
nigh  us,— bress  His  holy  name  !  —  a-lookin'  arter  His  people,  and 
a-gatherin'  on  'em  in  ! ' 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  what  a  strange  rhapsody  fell  from  his  lips;  but 
it  ended  as  it  began,  — suddenly,  and  without  warning.  The  glorified 
look  faded  from  his  face.  The  sentence  died  midway  on  his  lips. 
His  eyes  regained  their  conscious  look,  and  ran  around  the  hushed 
circle  of  attent  faces,  while  a  knowledge  of  what  had  taken  place 
seemed  first  to  flash  upon  him.  He  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  and  sank  down  with  a  groan,  exclaiming,  in  apologetic 
tones,  — 

"*0  Lor'!  O  Lor'!  thou  knowest  de  weakness  ob  dy  sarvant! 
Spar'  him  !  spar'  him  ! '  The  meeting  ended,  and  we  went  home. 
Somehow  I  can  not  get  over  the  feeling  that  the  little  log-church  is 
a  place  where  one  has  indeed  seen  God. 

"  They  told  us  afterwards  that  Uncle  Jerry  often  had  these 
*  spells,'  as  they  call  them,  whenever  there  was  a  great  battle 
pending  or  imminent  during  the  war,  and  they  could  always  tell 
which  way  the  fight  had  gone,  by  what  he  said  in  these  trances. 
They  say  he  knows  nothing  of  what  he  says  at  such  times.  I  asked 
him  about  it  one  day.  He  simply  said,  '  I  can't  'splain  it.  Missus. 
'Pears  like  it's  a  cross  I  hez  specially  to  carry.  It's  made  me  a  heap 
o'  trouble.  Bin  whipped  fer  it  heaps  o'  times;  an',  'sides  dat,  I  allers 
feel  ez  if  I'd  lived  'bout  ten  yeans  when  I  comes  out  o'  one  o'  dem 


90  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

spells.      Can't  understan'   it,  Missus;    but  Uncle  Jerry '11   quit  in 
some  of  dem  spells  yit !  ' 

"  We  do  not  often  go  to  church  now.  There  is  no  positive  in- 
civility offered  us;  but  there  is  a  constant  coldness,  which  says, 
plainer  than  words  can,  that  we  are  not  wanted.  Comfort  still  has 
hope  that  these  things  will  wear  away  as  time  passes;  but  I  begin 
to  think  that  we  shall  always  be  strangers  in  the  land  in  which  we 
dwell.  I  do  not  see  any  chance  for  it  to  be  otherwise.  The  North 
and  the  South  are  two  peoples,  utterly  dissimilar  in  all  their  char- 
acteristics; and  I  am  afraid  that  more  than  one  generation  must 
pass  before  they  will  become  one. 

"  Your  loving  sister, 

"  Metta." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

CONGRATULATION  AND  CONDOLENCE. 

Soon  after  the  Fool's  publication  of  the  Regulators'  warn- 
ing and  his  own  reply  in  "  The  Yerdenton  Gazette,"  he  received 
many  letters,  some  of  which  may  be  given  as  illustrative  of 
the  atmosphere  in  which  he  lived.  The  first  of  these  came 
from  a  remote  portion  of  the  State,  and  from  one  of  whom 
the  Fool  had  never  even  heard  :  — 

"  Colonel  Comfort  Servosse,  Dear  Sir,  —  T  saw  your  letter  in 
'The  Verdenton  Gazette,'  and  was  so  struck  with  the  similarity  of 
our  positions,  that  I  determined  to  write  to  you  at  once.  Some  of 
the  worst  of  our  people,  as  I  believe,  have  formed  themselves  into  a 
band  of  Regulators  for  the  sake  of  attending  to  everybody's  business 
but  their  own.  I  am  a  native  of  this  State,  and  fought  through  the 
war  in  the  Confederate  army,  from  Bull  Run  to  Appomattox,  never 
missing  a  day's  duty  nor  a  fight.  When  it  was  over,  I  found  myself 
with  only  a  few  hundred  acres  of  land  (which  had  been  tramped 
over  and  burned  and  stripped  by  both  armies),  and  no  money,  no 
crop,  no  stock,  a  large  family,  some  debts,  good  health,  and  a  con- 
stitution like  white  hickory.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  work  at 
once.  I  went  to  the  nearest  post,  told  my  story,  and  got  two  horses. 
Idid  some  hauling,  and  got  some  other  things,  — an  army  wagon  and 


CONGRATULATION  AND   CONDOLENCE.      91 

an  aralnilance.  A  friend  who  happened  to  have  saved  some  cotton 
sold  it,  and  loaned  me  a  little  money.  I  went  to  work,  hired  some 
niggers,  told  them  I  would  feed  them,  and  work  with  tliem,  and, 
when  the  crop  was  sold,  we  would  divide.  They  turned  in,  and 
worked  with  me.  We  made  a  splendid  crop,  and  I  divided  right 
smart  of  money  with  them  in  the  fall. 

"  This  year  some  of  them  wanted  to  work  crops  on  shares.  I 
could  trust  them,  as  they  had  worked  for  me  the  year  hefore.  I 
knew  they  had  enough  to  bread  themselves,  and  were  well  able  to 
run  a  *  one-horse  crop.'  This  would  allow  me  to  use  my  means  in 
putting  in  more  land  elsewhere,  and  so  be  decidedly  to  my  advan- 
tage as  w^ell  as  theirs.  I  was  thinking  of  my  own  profit,  though, 
when  I  did  it.  Well,  I  sold  some  of  them  horses  and  mules,  and 
helped  others  to  get  them  elsewhere.  The  spring  opened,  and  I 
had  the  busiest  farm  and  finest  prospect  I  have  ever  seen.  I  was 
running  a  big  force,  and  every  nigger  on  the  plantation  had  a  full 
crop  about  half  pitched,  when  all  at  once  I  got  a  notice  from  the 
Regulators,  just  about  like  the  one  you  publish,  only  they  didn't 
require  me  to  leave,  only  to  stop  selling  horses  to  niggers  and  let- 
ting them  crop  on  shares.  They  said  they  had  made  up  their  minds 
that  no  nigger  should  straddle  his  own  horse,  or  ride  in  his  own  cart, 
in  this  county. 

"  I  saw  in  a  minute  that  it  meant  ruin  to  Exum  Davis  either 
■way.  If  I  gave  in  to  them,  I  discouraged  my  hands,  spoilt  my  crop, 
and  would  be  swamped  by  my  fertilizer  account  in  the  fall.  If  I 
didn't,  the  cussed  fools  would  be  deviling  and  worrying  my  hands, 
ham-stringing  their  stock,  and  my  crop  would  be  short.  It  didn't 
take  me  long  to  decide.    I  made  up  my  mind  to  fight. 

"  It  wasn't  an  hour  after  I  read  that  notice,  before  I  had  every 
horse  and  mule  on  the  place  hauling  pine-logs  for  a  stockade; 
though  I  didn't  let  anybody  know  what  I  had  on  hand.  Then  I 
went  off  to  Gainsborough  to  see  the  post  commander  there.  Colonel 
Ricker.  He  Ls  a  good  fellow  and  a  gentleman,  if  he  is  a  Yankee. 
I  told  him  square  out  what  the  matter  was  ;  and  he  let  me  have  as 
many  old  guns  as  I  wanted  (part  of  them  surrendered  arms,  and 
part  extra  guns  of  his  command),  and  a  couple  boxes  of  ammuni- 
tion. When  I  got  back,  I  told  the  boys  what  was  up,  and  dis- 
tributed the  arms.  We  put  our  horses  in  the  woods  that  night, 
stood  to  our  arms  all  night,  put  up  the  stockade  next  day,  and 
sent  word  to  the  Regulators  that  they  might  go  to  hell.  We've 
kept  at  work,  being  mighty  careful  not  to  be  surprised,  and  have 
not  been  disturbed  yet.  1  don't  reckon  we  shall  be  ;  but  there  is  no 
telling.    I  say.  Stand  your  ground.     They  say  you're  a  '  Yank; '  but 


92  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

that  don't  make  any  difference.  Law's  law,  and  right's  right;  and 
I  hope  Tou  will  give  anybody  that  comes  to  disturb  you  as  warm  a 
welcome  as  they  would  get  here  from 

'*  Yours  respectfully, 

"  ExuM  Davis." 

The  next  was  from  the  old  doctor,  George  D.  Garnet :  — 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  —  I  was  sorry  to  see  that  the  feeling  against 
you,  because  you  are  of  Northern  birth,  which  has  been  smoldering 
ever  since  you  came  among  us,  has  at  last  burst  into  a  flame.  I 
have  been  expecting  it  all  the  time,  and  so  can  not  say  I  am  sur- 
prised ;  but  it  has  been  so  long  in  showing  itself,  that  I  was  truly  in 
hopes  that  you  would  escape  further  molestation.  I  know  that  I 
had  no  reason  to  anticipate  such  a  result,  because  you  represent  a 
development  utterly  antagonistic  to  that  in  the  midst  of  which  you 
are  placed,  and  are  so  imbued  with  its  spirit  that  you  can  not  lay 
aside  nor  conceal  its  characteristics.  That  civilization  by  which  you 
are  surrounded  has  never  been  tolerant  of  opinions  which  do  not 
harmonize  with  its  ideas.  Based  and  builded  on  slavery,  the  ideas 
which  were  a  part  of  that  institution,  or  which  were  necessary  to  its 
protection  and  development,  have  become  ingrained,  and  essential  to 
the  existence  of  the  community.  It  was  this  development  which 
was  even  more  dangerous  and  inimical  to  the  nation  than  the  insti- 
tution itself.  You  must  remember,  dear  Colonel,  that  neither  the 
nature,  habits  of  thought,  nor  prejudices  of  men,  are  changed  by 
■war  or  its  results.  The  institution  of  slavery  is  abolished;  but  the 
prejudice,  intolerance,  and  bitterness  which  it  fostered  and  nourished, 
are  still  alive,  and  will  live  until  those  who  were  raised  beneath  its 
glare  have  moldered  back  to  dust.  A  new  generation  —  perhaps 
many  new  generations  —  must  arise  before  the  North  and  the  South 
can  be  one  people,  or  the  prejudices,  resentments,  and  ideas  of 
slavery,  intensified  by  unsuccessful  war,  can  be  obliterated. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  discouraged.  Your  course  is  the  right 
one,  and  by  pursuing  it  steadily  you  will  sow  the  seed  of  future 
good.  You  may  not  live  to  reap  its  advantages,  or  to  see  others 
gather  its  fair  fruits ;  but,  as  God  is  the  God  of  truth  and  right,  he 
will  send  a  husbandman  who  will  some  time  gather  full  sheave.s 
from  your  seeding,  if  you  do  not  faint. 

"  To  show  you  that  not  only  you  who  are  from  the  North  are  made 
to  feel  the  weight  of  disapproval  which-  our  Southern  society  visits 
upon  those  who  do  not  accord  with  all  its  sentiments,  I  inclose  ymi 
a  certificate  which  I  recei^'ed  from  the  church  at  Mayfield  the  other 


CONGRATULATION  AND   CONDOLENCE.      93 

flay.  I  have  been  a  member  and  a  deacon  of  this  church  for  almost 
quarter  of  a  century.  I  was  lately  informed  that  my  name  had 
been  dropped  from  the  church-roll.  Upon  inquiry,  I  found  that 
I  had  been  expelled  by  vote  of  the  church,  without  a  trial.  I  de- 
manded a  certificate  of  the  fact  as  a  vindication  of  my  character, 
and  the  inclosed  is  what  was  given  me.  It  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  I  had  expected  for  some  time;  but  it  comes  hard  to  a  man  who 
has  reached  his  threescore  years,  and  now  sees  his  children  pointed 
at  in  scorn,  contemned  and  ostracized  by  the  church  of  God,  because 
their  father  does  what  he  conceives  to  be  his  Christian  duty. 

"  With  warmest  regards  for  yourself  and  wife,  and  the  fair-haired 
child  who  tills  the  sad  old  house  with  sunshine,  I  remain, 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  George  D.  Gar>t:t." 

The  inclosure  to  which  he  referred  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  To  WHOM  IT  MAT  coxCERX,  —  This  is  to  Certify,  that  on  the  first 
day  of  April,  1867,  the  deacons  and  members  of  the  Baptist  Church, 
at  Mayfield,  in  regular  church  meeting  assembled.  Brother  E.  Law- 
rence acting  as  moderator,  did  unanimously  pass  the  following 
resolution :  — 

"  \Resolved,  That  brother  Deacon  George  D.  Garnet  be  dropped 
from  the  roll  of  this  church,  because  he  walketh  not  with  us.* 
And  subsequently,  on  the  same  day,  at  the  request  of  brother 
George  D.  Garnet,  and  to  show  that  it  was  not  from  his  bad  moral 
character  that  the  said  church  refuses  longer  to  fellowship  with 
him,  the  following  was  added  to  said  resolution  as  explanatory  of 
it;  to  wit,  'but  persists,  after  repeated  warnings  and  advice,  upon 
organizing,  encouraging,  and  teaching  in  a  negro  sabbath  school, 
bj'  which  he  has  made  himself  a  stumbling-block  and  means  of 
offense  to  many  of  the  members  of  said  church.' 
(Signed) 

"  John  Senter,  Clerk. 

"  Robert  Lawrence,  Deacon  and  Moderator." 

The  next  letter  was  from  a  Union  man  of  considerable  emi- 
nence, who  occupied  the  important  position  of  public  prose- 
cutor in  the  courts  of  the  State.  He  wrote  a  letter  which  is 
significant  in  many  ways  of  the  public  sentiment  of  the  day  :  — 

"  CoLONTSL  CoMFOHT  Servosse,  Dear  Sir,  —  I  notice  by  your  letter 
in  '  The  Gazette  '  that  you  are  not  only  angry,  but  also  surprised,  at 
the  outrageous  demands  of   the  Kegidators.     Your  anger  is  but 


94  A    FOOL'S  ERRAXD. 

natural;  but  your  surprise,  you  will  allow  me  to  say,  shows  '  afl 
understanding  simple  and  unschooled.'  That  3'ou  should  be  unable 
to  measure  the  strength  of  prejudice  in  the  Southern  mind  is  not 
strange.  You  shoukl  remember  that  the  war  has  rather  intensified 
than  diminished  the  pride,  the  arrogance,  and  the  sectional  rancor 
and  malevolence  of  the  Southern  people.  If  you  will  consider  it 
for  a  moment,  you  will  see  that  this  is  the  natural  and  unavoidable 
result  of  such  a  struggle.  All  that  made  the  Southern  slaveholder 
and  rebel  what  he  was,  still  characterizes  him  since  the  surrender. 
The  dogma  of  State-sovereigntj'  has  been  prevented  from  receiving 
practical  development,  but  as  a  theory  it  is  as  vital  and  as  sacred  as 
ever.  The  fact  of  slavery  is  destroyed:  the  right  to  enslave  is  yet  as 
devoutly  held  as  ever.  The  right  of  a  white  man  to  certain  political 
privileges  is  admitted:  the  right  of  a  colored  man  to  such,  it  will 
require  generations  to  establish.  It  is  not  at  you  as  an  individual 
that  the  blow  is  struck;  but  these  people  feel  that  you,  by  the  very 
fact  of  Northern  birth,  and  ser\-ice  in  the  Federal  army,  represent  a 
power  which  has  deprived  them  of  property,  liberty,  and  a  right  to 
control  their  own,  and  that  now,  in  sheer  wantonness  of  insult,  you 
are  encouraging  the  colored  people  to  do  those  two  things  which  are 
more  sacred  than  any  other  to  the  Southern  mind;  to  wit,  to  buT/  and 
hold  land  and  to  7-ide  their  own  horses.  You  can  not  understand  why 
they  should  feel  so,  because  you  were  never  submitted  to  the  same 
influences.  You  have  a  right  to  be  angry;  but  your  surprise  is  in- 
credible to  them,  and  pitiable  to  me. 

"  To  show  you  to  what  extent  prejudice  will  extend,  permit  me 
to  relate  an  incident  yet  fresh  in  my  mind.  During  a  recent  trial 
in  the  court  at  Martinsville  I  had  occasion  to  challenge  the  jurors 
upon  the  trial  of  an  indictment  of  a  white  man  for  killing  a  negro. 
The  Court,  after  some  hesitation,  permitted  me  to  ask  each  juror 
this  question,  '  Have  you  any  feeling  which  would  prevent  you  from 
convicting*  a  white  man  for  the  murder  of  a  negro,  should  the  evi- 
dence show  him  to  be  guilty  ?  '  Strange  and  discreditable  as  it  may 
appear  to  you,  it  became  necessary,  in  addition  to  the  regular  panel, 
to  order  thi^ee  icrits  of  venire,  of  fifty  each,  before  twelve  men  could  be 
found  loho  could  answer  this  simple  question  in  the  yier/ative.  -When 
prejudice  goes  so  far  that  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  acknowledge 
upon  their  oaths  that  they  will  not  convict  a  white  man  for  killing 
a  negro,  you  must  not  be  surprised  that  the  ante  bellum  dislike  and 
distrust  of  Northern  men  should  show  itself  in  the  same  manner. 
The  South  has  been  changed  only  in  so  far  as  the  overwhelming 
power  of  the  conqueror  has  rendered  change  imperative.  In  its  old 
domain,  prejudice  is  still  as  bitter  and  unreasoning  as  ever.    Perhaps 


CONGRATULATION  AND   CONDOLENCE.       95 

I  onglit  not  to  reproach  you  for  expressing  surprise;  since  it  was  not 
clear  even  to  me,  a  native,  until  I  had  carefully  studied  the  cause 
and  effect.  While  I  sincerely  regret  the  unfortunate  folly  of  these 
men,  and  hope  it  may  extend  no  farther,  I  must  still  beg  you  to 
consider  that  it  is  only  what  must  always  he  expected  under  such 
circumstances  as  the  recent  past  has  witnessed. 

'  If  you  have  anj^  clew  to  the  persons  guilt}'  of  this  act,  or  if  I  can 
be  of  any  service  in  freeing  you  from  annoj^ances,  please  to  consider 
me,  both  personally  and  officially, 

"  Yours  to  command, 

"  Thomas  Denton," 

The  other  two  were  directed  to  Metta.  The  first  was  from 
the  wife  of  a  Xorthern  man  who  liad  settled  in  a  neighboring 
State,  and  whom  Metta  had  met  at  the  house  of  a  common 
friend  some  months  before.  It  was  edged  with  black,  and  told 
a  sad  story  :  — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Servosse,  — I  have  desired  to  write  you  for 
several  days,  but  have  been  too  overwhelmed  with  grief  to  do  so. 
You  have  probably  seen  in  the  papers  the  account  of  my  husband's 
death.  You  know  he  was  appointed  sheriff  of  this  county  a  few 
months  ago  by  the  general  commanding  the  district.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  feeling  about  the  matter,  and  I  begged  him  not  to 
accept.  Somehow  I  had  a  presentiment  of  evil  to  come  from  it;  but 
he  laughed  at  my  fears,  said  he  should  only  do  his  dut}^,  and  there 
could  be  no  cause  of  increased  hostility  against  hun.  Indeed,  I 
think  he  had  an  idea,  that,  when  the  people  found  out  that  his  only 
purpose  was  to  administer  the  office  fairly,  they  would  respect  his 
motives,  and  be  more  friendly  than  they  had  been  for  the  past  few 
months.  He  never  would  believe  that  the  hostility  towards  North- 
ern men  was  any  thing  more  than  a  temporary  fever. 

"  After  he  entered  upon  the  office,  there  were  many  threats  made 
against  him,  and  I  begged  him  not  to  expose  himself.  But  he  did 
not  know  what  fear  was,  and  rode  all  over  the  county  at  all  times, 
in  the  performance  of  his  duties,  coming  home  every  night  when  it 
was  possible,  however,  because  he  knew  of  my  anxiety.  One  week 
ago  to-day  he  was  detained  at  the  court-house  later  than  usual. 
You  know  we  live  about  five  miles  from  the  county-seat.  As  night 
came  on  I  grew  very  anxious  about  him.  I  seemed  to  know  that 
danger  threatened  bim.  Finally  I  became  so  uneasy  that  I  had  my 
aiare  saddled,  and  rode  to  meet  him,  as  I  frequently  did.    The  road 


B6  A   FOOVS   ERRAND. 

is  almost  directly  westward,  winding  through  an  overhanging  forest, 
with  only  here  and  there  a  plantation  road  leading  off  to  a  neighbor's 
house. 

"  It  was  almost  sundown  when  I  started.  "Would  to  God  it  had 
been  earlier  !  Perhaps  I  might  have  saved  him  then.  I  had  gone 
about  a  mile,  when,  rising  a  little  eminence,  I  saw  him  coming  down 
the  slope  beyond,  and  at  a  little  branch  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  1 
stopped  to  wait  for  him.  He  waved  his  hat  as  he  saw  me,  and 
struck  into  a  brisk  canter.  I  wanted  to  give  the  mare  the  whip,  and 
gallop  to  him  ;  but  I  feared  he  would  see  my  alarm,  and  count  it 
childish:  so  I  sat  and  waited.  He  had  come  half  the  distance, 
when  suddenly  there  was  a  puff  of  smoke  from  the  roadside.  I 
did  not  wait  even  to  hear  the  report,  but  with  a  cry  of  despair 
struck  my  horse,  and  rushed  forward  like  the  wind.  I  saw  him  fall 
from  his  horse,  which  rushed  madly  by  me.  Then  I  saw  three  mis- 
creants steal  away  from  a  leafy  blind,  behind  which  they  had  been 
hidden;  and  then  I  had  my  poor  murdered  husband  in  my  arms, 
heard  his  last  struggling  gasp,  and  felt  his  warm  heart- blood  gushing 
over  my  hands  as  I  clasised  him  to  my  breast.  I  knew  nothing 
more  until  I  was  at  home  with  my  dead. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  I  can  not  picture  to  yoii  my  desolation  !  It 
is  so  horrible  !  If  he  had  died  in  battle,  I  could  have  endured  it; 
even  accident,  or  swift  disease,  it  seems  to  me,  I  could  have  borne: 
but  this  horrible,  causeless  murder  fills  me  with  rage  and  hate  as 
well  as  grief.  Why  did  we  ever  come  to  this  accursed  land  !  And 
oh,  my  friend,  do  not  neglect  my  warning  !  Do  not  cease  your  en- 
treaty until  your  husband  hears  your  prayers.  Do  not  risk  the  fate 
which  has  befallen  me. 

"  Yours  in  hopeless  sorrow, 

"  Alice  E.  Coleman." 

The  other  letter  was  in  a  neat,  feminine  hand,  written  on  the 
coarse,  dingy  paper  known  as  "  Confederate  paper,"  which  was 
the  only  kind  accessible  during  the  blockade.  It  was  evidently 
written  by  a  woman  of  culture.  It  was  not  signed  with  any 
name,  but  only  "  Your  true  friend,"  and  bore  the  postmark 
of  Verdenton  :  — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Servosse,  — Though  you  do  not  know  who  I 
am,  I  have  seen  j-ou,  and  am  sure  you  are  not  only  a  lady,  but  a  sen- 
sible, true-hearted  woman.  Though  a  stranger,  I  would  not  have 
you  suffer  grief,  or  incur  trouble,  if  in  my  power  to   prevent  it. 


CONGRATULATION  AND   CONDOLENCE.      97 

Please,  then,  dear  madam,  listen  to  the  advice  of  a  sincere  well- 
wisher,  and  do  all  in  j'our  power  to  persuade  your  husband  to  leave 
this  part  of  the  country.  I  am  sure  he  can  not  be  a  bad  man,  or  you 
would  not  love  him  so  well.  But  you  must  know  that  his  ideas  are 
very  obnoxious  to  us  Southern  people;  and  if  he  stays  here,  and 
continues  to  exjiress  them  as  he  has  hitherto,  I  feel  that  there  will  be 
trouble.  You  know  our  Southern  gentlemen  can  not  endure  any 
reflections  upon  their  conduct  or  motives;  and  the  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions which  gathered  around  the  Confederacy  are  all  the  dearer  from 
the  fate  of  our  *  Lost  Cause.'  I  know  whereof  I  write."  [The  next 
sentence  had  been  commenced  with  the  words  "My  husband," 
which  had  been  so  nearly  erased  that  they  could  only  be  read  with 
difficulty.]  "  Several  gentlemen  were  speaking  of  the  matter  in  my 
hearing  only  last  night,  and  I  tremble  to  think  what  may  occur  if 
you  do  not  heed  my  warning. 

"  O  dear  ladj"!  let  me  beg  you,  as  a  Christian  woman,  to  implore 
your  husband  to  go  away.  You  do  not  know  what  sorrow  you  will 
save,  not  only  yourself,  but  others  who  would  mourn  almost  as  deeply 
as  you,  and  perhaps  more  bitterly.  The  war  is  over;  and  oh!  if  you 
have  mourned  as  much  as  I  over  its  havoc,  you  will  be  willing  to  do 
and  suffer  any  thing  in  order  to  avoid  further  bloodshed,  violence, 
evil,  and  sorrow.    May  God  guide  you! 

"  I  can  only  sign  myself 

"  Your  true  FRIE^^)." 

Metta  took  these  letters  to  the  Fool,  and  laid  them  silently 
before  him.  Her  face  looked  gray  and  wan,  and  there  was  the 
shadow  of  a  great  fear  in  her  eyes,  as  she  did  so.  He  read  them 
over  carefully,  laid  them  down,  and  looked  up  into  her  face  as 
he  said,  — 

"Well?'^ 

"I  thought  I  ought  to  show  them  to  you,  dear  husband,"  she 
said  with  quivering  lip ;  and  then  the  pent-up  tears  overflowed 
the  swollen  lids,  as  she  buried  her  head  on  his  breast,  and, 
clasped  in  his  arms,  wept  long  and  convulsively.  When  her 
grief  was  somewhat  soothed,  he  said, — 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  io,  Metta?  '* 

"Whatever  you  think  to  be  your  duty,  my  dear  husband," 
she  replied,  the  sunshine  of  wifely  devotion  showing  through 
the  last  drops  of  the  shower. 


98  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

He  kissed  her  forehead  and  lips,  —  kissed  away  the  briny 
tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  We  -will  stay,"  said  the  Fool. 

The  subject  of  removal  from  their  adopted  home  was  never 
again  mooted  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CITIZENS    IN    EMBRYO. 

"What  you  tink  ob  de  League,  Kunnel  ?  "  said  a  sturdy, 
intelligent  colored  man,  who,  under  direction  of  Comfort  Ser- 
vosse,  was  pruning  the  grape-vines  that  were  scattered  about  in 
all  manner  of  unexpected  places,  as  well  as  in  the  staid  and 
orderly  rov.s  of  the  vineyard  at  Warrington.  It  was  a  bright 
day  in  winter  ;  and  the  stricken  soldier  was  gathering  strength 
and  vitality  by  the  unconscious  medicament  of  the  soft  sun- 
shine and  balmy  breezes,  and  that  light  labor  which  the  care 
of  trees  and  vines  encouraged.  He  stood  now  critically  sur- 
veying a  long-neglected  '•  Diana,"  on  which  he  was  about  to 
commence  operations,  his  pruning-knife  in  his  hand,  and  his 
shears  sticking  out  from  a  side-pocket  of  his  overalls.  At  the 
next  vine  was  working  his  interlocutor,  w^ho  glanced  slyly 
towards  him  as  he  asked  the  question. 

'•  The  '  League,'  Andy  ? "  said  Servosse,  looking  at  his  co- 
laborer  with  an  amused  smile,  while  he  tried  the  edge  of  his 
knife  with  his  thumb.     "  What  league  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"De  Union  League,  ob  cose.  Didn't  know  dar  was  any 
udder.  Is  dah  ?  "  said  Andy,  as  he  finished  tying  up  the  vine 
at  which  he  had  been  at  work,  and  started  to  the  next. 

*'  Oh,  yes !  there  are  various  kinds  of  leagues.  But  why  do 
you  inquire  about  the  Union  League  ?  How  did  you  ever  hear 
of  it  ?  " 

"  Wal.  putty  much  de  same  way  you  did,  I  'spects,"  answered 
Andy  with  a  grin. 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  99 

♦'Pretty  much  as  I  did?"  said  Servosse.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"■Why,  I  'How  you  b'longs  to  it,"  said  Andy.  "Dey  tells 
me  every  Union  soldier  b'longs  to  it.  'Sides  dat,  I  made  de 
knocks  de  udder  day  on  de  work-bench,  when  you  was  workin' 
at  de  wisteria  in  front  o'  de  winder,  an'  1  seed  you  look  up 
kinder  sudden-like,  an'  den  smile  to  youself  as  if  you  thought 
you'd  heerd  from  an  ole  friend,  an'  woke  up  to  find  ye'd  been 
a-dreamin'." 

"  So  I  did,  Andy,"  answered  the  Caucasian.  "  Some  tinve  dur- 
ing the  war  I  heard  of  an  organization  known  as  the  Union 
League.  It  strikes  me  that  I  first  heard  of  it  in  the  mountains 
of  East  Tennessee,  as  instituted  for  self -protection  and  mutual 
support  among  the  sturdy  Unioners  there  in  those  trying  times. 
However  that  may  be,  I  first  came  in  contact  with  its  workings 
in  the  fall  of  1864.  It  was  the  very  darkest  period  of  the  war 
for  us.  The  struggle  had  lasted  so  long  that  everybody., was 
tired  out.  The  party  in  the  North  who  were  opposed  to  the 
war  "  —  , 

"  Wasn't  they  called  '  Copperheads  '  ?  "  interrupted  Andy. 

"Yes,  we  called  them  'Copperheads,'"  answered  the  Fool. 
"  These  men  seemed  to  think  that  it  would  be  a  good  time  to 
stop  the  war,  on  the  idea  that  both  sides  were  tired  of  it,  and 
would  rather  end  it  on  any  terms  than  keep  it  up  on  uncertain- 
ties. So  they  were  making  great  efforts  to  elect  a  president 
who  would  let  up  on  the  Rebellion,  and  enable  the  rebels  of 
the  South  to  accomplish  their  secession.  At  this  time  I  cs 
caped  from  a  Confederate  prison,  and  after  a  time  arrived  in 
Philadelphia.  While  I  waited  there  for  orders,  a  friend  asked 
me  one  night  if  I  didn't  want  to  join  the  Union  League. 
Upon  asking  what  it  was,  I  found  that  it  was  a  society  of  men 
who  were  determined  never  to  give  up  the  Union  under  any 
hazard,  but  to  uphold  and  sustain  it  with  property  and  life  if 
need  be.  It  was  a  secret  association  ;  and  its  chief  purpose  was 
said  to  be  to  enable  the  loyal  people  of  any  city  or  neighbor- 
hood to  muster  at  the  shortest  possible  notice,  to  resist  invasion, 
put  dov.n  riot,  or  enforce  the  law,  — to  protect  themselves  and 
families,  or  aid  the  government  in  extremities." 


100  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"  Was  it  any  good  ?  "  asked  Andy. 

"  Well,  indeed,"  responded  his  employer  musingly,  "  I  do  not 
know.  A  soldier  who  was  on  duty  at  the  front  the  greater 
part  of  the  war  had  very  little  opportunity  for  knowing  what 
went  on  in  his  rear.  I  have  heard  that  when  '  Lee  marched 
over  the  mountain-wall '  into  Maryland  and  Pennsylvania,  and 
threatened  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore,  the  bells  of  Philadel- 
phia struck  the  signals  of  the  League,  and  thousands  rallied  at 
their  places  of  assembly  in  an  instant ;  and  that  regiment  after 
regiment  of  resolute  minute- men  were  organized  and  equipped 
almost  without  an  hour's  delay.     I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"  Do  you  want  dis  '  Concord '  cut  back  to  two  eyes,  like  de 
rest,  Kunnel?  It's  made  a  powerful  strong  growth,  an'  it 
seems  a  clar  waste  to  cut  it  back  so  close,"  asked  the  hireling, 
as  he  held  up  for  his  employer's  inspection  a  rank-grown  cane 
of  the  previous  year,  which  had  run  along  the  ground  until  it 
had  appropriated  the  stake  of  a  weakling  neighbor,  and  clam- 
bered over  it,  smothering  in  its  sturdy  coils  the  growth  of  the 
rightful  owner. 

"Yes,"  said  Servosse  hesitatingly,  "cut  it  down.  It  seems 
a  pity,  as  you  say,  to  destroy  that  beautiful  growth  ;  but,  when 
vines  have  run  wild  for  a  time,  the  only  way  to  bring  them 
back  to  sober,  profitable  bearing,  is  to  cut  them  back  without 
scruple.  Cut  them  down  to  two  eyes,  if  they  are  as  big  as 
your  wrist,  Andy.  It's  wasting  the  past,  but  saving  the  future. 
And  it's  my  notion  that  the  same  thing  is  true  of  peoples  and 
nations,  Andy.  For  instance,  when  a  part  of  a  country  rebels, 
and  runs  wild  for  a  time,  it  ought  to  have  the  rank  wood, 
the  wild  growth,  cut  away  without  mercy.  They  ought  to  be 
held  down,  and  pruned  and  shaped,  until  they  are  content  to 
bear  '  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness,'  instead  of  clam- 
bering about,  'cumbering  the  ground  '  with  a  useless  growth." 

"You  was  sayin'  what  de  League  had  done,  a  while  ago," 
said  Andy,  after  there  had  been  a  period  of  silence,  while  they 
each  cut  away  at  their  respective  vines. 

"Yes,"  said  Servosse.  "I  have  heard,  too,  that  the  order 
was  very  useful  as  a  sort  of  reserve  force  in  the  rear,  in  putting 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  101 

down  such  terrible  riots  as  were  gotten  up  in  New  York  in  the 
dark  days  of  the  war,  by  emissaries  of  the  enemy,  acting  with 
the  Copperheads  of  the  North." 

"  Was  dar  many  of  'em  —  de  Leaguers  I  mean  ? "  asked 
Andy. 

"  I  understand,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  it  spread  pretty  much 
all  through  the  North  in  the  later  years  of  the  war,  and  em- 
braced a  very  large  portion  of  the  Union  men  in  those  states." 

"Did  all  de  Yankee  soldiers  belong  to  it?"  queried  the 
listener. 

"Really,  I  don't  know,"  said  Servosse.  "I  don't  suppose 
I  have  ever  heard  more  than  a  dozen  or  two  say  any  thing 
about  it  in  the  army.  I  suppose  most  of  the  veterans  who 
went  home  on  leave  of  absence  in  1864  may  have  joined  it 
while  at  home,  and  the  new  levies  may  have  belonged  to  it. 
Of  course,  we  had  no  need  for  such  an  organization  in  the 
army." 

"Well,  is  der  any  harm  in  it,  Kunnel?  Any  reason  why 
anybody  shouldn't  jine  it  ?  "  asked  Andy  earnestly. 

"None  in  the  world,  that  I  can  see,"  answered  Servosse. 
"Indeed,  I  do  not  see  why  it  should  not  be  a  good  thing  for 
the  colored  people  to  do.  It  would  teach  them  to  organize  and 
\York  together,  and  they  would  learn  in  it  something  about 
those  public  duties  which  are  sure  very  soon  to  be  cast  upon 
them.  Besides,  it  is  by  no  means  sure  that  they  may  not  need 
it  as  a  means  of  self-protection.  I  had  not  thought  of  it 
before ;  but  I  believe  it  might  be  a  good  thing." 

"Dat's  ray  notion.  Mars'  Kunnel.  We's  got  a  little  league 
down  h'yer  to  Verdenton  at  de  schoolhouse  fer  de  culled  folks, 
an'  we'd  be  mighty  proud  tu  hev  ye  come  down  some  Chuseday 
night.     Dat  we  would !  "  said  Andy. 

"What!  you  have  got  a  chapter  of  the  Union  League 
there  ?  " 

"Yes  :  it's  jes'  like  what  you's  been  a-tellin'  'bout." 

"How  did  you  get  it?" 

"Wal,  I  don't  jes'  'zactly  know.  Dar's  some  culled  men 
belongs  to  it  as  was  soldiers  in  de  Union  army,  an'  I  'llowed 


102  A  FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

dey  might  hev  fotch  it  wid  'em  when  dey  come  h'yer.  Dat's 
what  made  me  ax  you  so  close  'bout  dat." 

"Who  belong  to  it?     Are  they  all  colored  members?  " 

"  Wal,  de  heft  ob  'em  is  culled,  ob  co'se ;  but  der's  a  right 
smart  sprinklin'  ob  white  folks,  arter  all.  Dar's  all  de  Ufford 
boys  :  dey  wuz  Uniouers,  an'  was  hidin'  out  all  de  wah ;  an'  dey 
say  de}'  hed  somefiu'  monstrous  nigh  like  it  in  de  bushes,  an' 
'long  de  lines,  —  what  dey  call  de  '  Red  Stringems,'  er  somethin' 
like  dat.  Den  dar's  Mr.  Murry:  he  was  jes'  de  rantanker- 
ousest  Union  man  dat  ever  was,  all  tru  de  wah.  I'se  heerd 
him  cuss  de  Kinfederacy  right  out  when  de  soldiers  was 
marchin'  long  de  street  fo'  his  do'.  He'll  du  tu  tie  tu,  he 
will.  He  says  it  does  him  good  tu  hear  us  sing  '  Rally  roun' 
de  Flag,'  an'  de  '  Battle-Cry  o'  Freedom,'  an'  sech  like  songs, 
kase  he  says  it's  his  flag,  an'  he's  only  'sprised  dat  everybody 
don't  rally  roun'  it.  I  reckon  der's  ez  much  ez  a  dozen  white 
folks  in  all.  Some  ez  you  wouldn't  'spect  on't,  tu.  You'd  du 
us  proud  ef  you'd  come  down,  Mars'  Kunuel." 

"Who's  your  president,  Andy?  " 

"AVal,  sometimes  one,  an'  sometimes  anudder,  jes'  ac- 
cordin'  tu  who's  scholard  enuff  tu  take  de  lead,"  answered 
Andy,  with  ready  pride  in  his  new  toy. 

The  idea  was  very  amusing  to  the  Fool ;  and,  the  more  he 
thought  of  it,  the  more  he  was  convinced  that  it  might  be  a 
valuable  training-school  to  the  inchoate  citizens  of  the  lately 
rebellious  States.  Even  while  he  was  discussing  the  facts 
which  surrounded  him,  he  could  not  realize  them ;  and  he  quite 
forgot,  in  giving  his  assent  to  this  idea,  the  fact  that  he  was 
living  at  the  South,  among  a  people  who  did  not  kindly  brook 
diiierences  of  opinion  among  equals,  and  who  would  be  sure 
to  resent  with  an  implacable  hostility  any  society  which  not 
only  recognized  the  political  autonomy  of  the  recently  subject 
race,  but  also  encouraged  that  race  to  look  up  to  the  govern- 
ment their  masters  had  failed  to  destroy  as  their  government, 
their  guardian,  their  protector ;  which  not  only  promoted  ideas 
not  in  harmony  with  those  of  the  former  rulers  of  this  section, 
but  promoted  the  elevation  of  the  freedman,  prepared  him  for 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  103 

civil  life,  and  gave  him  confidence  in  himself  as  a  political 
integer.  Had  he  thought  of  this;  it  is  certain  that  he  would 
not  have  consented  so  readily'to  go  and  see  Andy's  society;  for 
■what  he  most  feared  was  a  conflict  or  permanent  antagonism 
between  the  freedmen  and  their  former  masters;  and  he 
thought  that  any  sacrifice,  not  going  to  the  substance  of  their 
liberties,  ought  to  be  made  rather  than  that  such  a  conflict 
should  be  risked. 

However,  stumbling  over  these  apparent  facts,  he  went 
on  the  next  Tuesday  night  to  the  schoolhouse  in  the  suburbs 
of  Verdenton.  It  was  just  beyond  the  line  of  Warrington; 
and  the  little  village  which  had  grown  up  on  his  own  estate 
Vas  but  a  continuation  of  the  suburb,  which,  as  in  all  South- 
ern cities,  had  been  tacitly  given  up  to  the  blacks  since  the 
close  of  the  war.  It  was  a  long,  low  building,  made  for 
service, — one  of  that  numerous  array  of  buildings  which  was 
mainly  furnished  to  the  recently  emancipated  seeker  after 
knowledge  by  the  systematic  bounty  of  that  much  abused 
institution,  the  Freedmen's  Bureau.  Acting  in  conjunction 
with  various  religious  and  benevolent  societies  of  the  North, 
it  furnished  a  class  of  buildings  better  adapted  to  the  needs 
of  those  for  whom  they  were  designed,  and  affording  greater 
results,  than  was  ever  done  in  all  history  wdth  like  means.  In 
every  village  of  the  South  was  erected  one  or  more  of  these 
rough  wooden  buildings,  consisting  only  of  roof,  rafter,  walls 
and  floor  of  undressed  plank.  The  minimum  of  cost  and 
the  maximum  of  space  were  the  objects  kept  constantly  in  view, 
and  usually  attained  beyond  all  question.  These  houses  be- 
came to  the  colored  people  what  the  court  of  the  temple  was 
to  the  Jews,  —  the  place  of  assembly  and  worship,  as  well  as 
of  instruction.  They  were  usually  unsectarian  ;  and  it  was  no 
unusual  spectacle  to  see  two  or  three  denominations  worship- 
ing in  the  same  house,  while  the  school  was  under  the  manage- 
ment and  control  of  still  another. 

To  them  thronged  with  wondrous  eagerness  the  old  and 
young  alike  of  the  recently  emancipated  race.  The  building 
to  which  Comfort  Servosse  went  that  night  was  an  imposing 


104  A    FOOrS  ERRAXD. 

structure  in  its  diinensious.  lu  it  seven  ladies  who  had  coma 
from  far  Northern  homes,  filled  Avith  the  genuine  spirit  of  the 
missionary,  and  no  doubt  thinking  themselves  endowed  with 
the  spirit  of  that  Redeemer  who  taught  publicans  in  the  market 
or  in  the  desert,  despite  the  frowns  of  the  Pharisees,  held  sway 
These  seven  fair,  pure-hearted  Xorthern  girls  taught  within  its 
walls  each  day,  and  oftentimes  at  night,  six  hundred  and  more  of 
the  race  which  had  just  now  its  first  chance  at  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge since  our  common  mother  persisted  in  eating  the  mystic 
apple.  They,  no  doubt,  thought  they  were  doing.  God's  ser- 
vice, and  wondered  why  the  earnest  Christians  who  dw^elt  about 
them  should  regard  the  inhabitants  of  the  Mission  House  with 
such  open  aversion  and  apparent  hate.  It  must  have  seemed* 
strange  to  these  fresh  young  believers  to  see  the  seats  of  the 
churches  in  the  town,  in  front  and  rear  of  where  they  sat,  upon 
the  sabbath,  vacated  by  the  most  devout  of  God's  people  in 
Verdenton.  They  wondered  at  it  for  a  time,  and  then  blamed 
the  good  people  of  Verdenton,  and  thought  ill  of  their  religion ; 
when  it  was  not  the  good  people  who  were  at  fault,  nor  their 
religion,  but  only  the  civilization  of  which  they  were  the  out- 
come. There  was  never  a  kindlier,  more  hospitable,  or  more 
religious  people  on  the  footstool,  than  those  of  Verdenton; 
only  they  were  kind  according  to  their  notion,  as  everybody  else 
is  ;  hospitable  according  to  custom,  like  the  rest  of  the  world ; 
and  religious  according  to  education  and  tradition,  as  are 
other  people  :  and  the  disjointure  of  opinion  between  them  and 
the  Yankee  schoolraarms  was  all  because  the  latter  wanted 
to  measure  them  by  Xorthern  ideas  of  these  virtues,  instead 
of  accepting  those  they  found  there.  Sometimes  they  wrote 
indignant  letters  to  their  friends  at  home  ;  but  it  was  fortu- 
nate that  the  greater  part  of  the  evil  things  M'hich  were  said  of 
them  by  the  neighboring  Christians  never  came  to  their  knowl- 
edge, and  that  their  hearts  were  too  pure  to  comprehend  the 
foul  innuendoes  which  floated  by  them.  So  they  went  on  teach- 
ing, as  they  had  been  taught,  those  who  had  been  all  their  lives 
thitherto  untaught;  and  the  others  went  on  hating  and  defam- 
ing them  because  such  a  course  was  counter  to  their  traditions, 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  105 

and  those  who  did  it  were  their  hereditary  enemies.  And  both, 
no  doubt,  felt  that  they  were  doing  God's  service  with  their 
might. 

Servosse  found  a  cordon  of  watchers  about  the  schoolhouse, 
by  one  of  whom  he  was  challenged,  and,  after  learning  who  he 
was,  taken  to  the  house,  where  he  was  carefully  examined  to 
ascertain  whether  he  were  a  member  or  not;  after  which  he  was 
admitted  into  the  room  where  the  meeting  was  held.  It  was  a 
large  classroom  in  the  second  story,  capable  of  seating,  perhaps, 
two  hundred  people.  It  was  about  half  full  when  he  arrived, 
as  the  meeting  had  not  yet  been  called  to  order ;  and  constant 
arrivals  were  fast  increasing  the  number.  The  great  bulk  of 
those  who  were  present  were  colored  men;  but  in  a  little  group 
at  the  right  of  the  platform  were  perhaps  a  dozen  white  men. 

The  Fool  found  himself  well  known  to  all  those  present, 
though  he  had  not  yet  acquired  the  power  readily  to  distinguish 
and  retain  the  countenances  of  colored  people.  As  he  ad- 
vanced into  the  room,  he  was  met  with  numerous  and  delighted 
greetings,  to  which  he  responded  pleasantly,  without,  in  most 
instances,  recognizing  those  who  gave  them.  Near  the  center 
of  the  room,  however,  he  was  met  by  Uncle  Jerry,  who,  bowing 
ceremoniously,  waved  his  hand  toward  the  knot  of  white  men, 
as  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  Evenin',  Mars  Kunnel.  Sarvant,  sah  !  We's  glad  to  see 
ve  wid  us,— powerful  glad!  Ye  knows  dese  gentlemen,  I 
s'pose.  Mr.  Durfee,  Kunnel  'Vosse;  Mr.  Morgiu,  Kunnel 
'Vosse.  But  you  knows  'em  all,  Kunnel ;  I  sees  dat,"  said  the 
old  man,  as  Comfort  clasped  the  hand  of  one  after  another, 
some  of  whom  he  was  prepared  to  meet,  and  others  of  whom  he 
was  surprised  to  see  there.  Among  the  former  was  Durfee,  a 
young  man  who  belonged  to  a  family  of  the  strongest  Union 
proclivities,  who  had  faced  far  more  danger  in  resisting  and 
avoiding  conscription  than  he  would  have  been  required  to 
meet  in  the  field. 

»  Ah !  "  said  he  warmly,  as  he  clasped  the  hand  of  the  Union 
colonel,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  I've  a  friend  here  to-night  that 
I  want  to  introduce  to  you.     Mr.  Walters,  Colonel  Servosse," 


106  A   FOOL'S  ERRAXD. 

he  said,  as  he  turned  toward  a  slender,  %Yiry-lookin5  man,  witli 
sloping  shoulders,  a  long  neck,  and  arms  which  seemed  to 
twine  about,  regardless  of  the  usual  articulations.  His  brown 
hair  was  cut  short,  and  rose  in  a  sort  of  bristling  row  above  his 
narrow,  reddish  face.  The  mouth  was  pinched,  the  nose  some- 
what prominent,  and  the  aspect  of  the  countenance  somewhat 
sharp.  The  eyes  were  keen,  but  rather  sunken  and  close,  and 
of  a  light  gray.     His  age  seemed  to  be  about  thirty-five. 

'•  ]\L-.  "Walters,"  said  Durfee,  ''  was  one  of  our  stanchest  Union 
men.  I  knew  him  all  through  the  w^ar.  Strangely  enough, 
he  did  not  hide  out,  nor  hold  an  office,  nor  take  a  contract." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  keep  out  of  the  army  ?  "  asked 
Servosse. 

*'I  hardly  know,"  answered  Walters  pleasantly.  "I  think 
it  was  my  health  mainly." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  broke  in  Durfee.  "Your  health,  did  you 
say?  I  vow  I  bleve  you're  right.  — He  had  better  health,  and 
more  of  it,  during  the  war,  than  any  man  I  know  of,  Colonel." 

"I  don't  understand  how  he  kept  out,  then,"  said  Servosse. 

"  There  ain't  anybody  that  I  ever  met  that  does  understand  it,'* 
said  Durfee.  '•  He  was  living  in  Rockford  when  the  war  began, 
in  business,  making  money,  and  a  member  of  the  Methodist 
Church.  He  wanted  to  go  away  at  the  first ;  but  his  wife  said 
she  didn't  want  to  leave  her  people :  so  John  Walters  staid 
right  where  he  was,  and  went  on  trading,  and  minding  his  own 
business,  the  same  as  before.  After  a  while,  when  things  begun 
to  get  hot,  there  was  some  talk  among  the  to^n  loafers  about 
his  going  to  the  array.  Then  he  spoke  out,  and  said  that  he  was 
a  Union  man,  and  didn't  never  calculate  to  be  any  thing  else. 
He  shouldn't  do  any  fighting  against  the  government  willingly, 
and  they'd  better  not  try  to  make  him  do  it  unwillingly. 
Things  kep'  gittin'  hotter  an'  hotter;  the  conscript  laws  kep' 
growing  closer  an'  closer :  but  John  Walters  was  right  there  in 
Kockford,  a-tradin'  an'  'tendin'  to  his  own  business,  the  same  as 
ever.  A  good  deal  was  said  about  it;  because  he  was  just  the 
same  Union  man  as  ever,  never  saying  any  thing  about  the 
matter  unless  tackled  on  it,  and  then  giving  as  good  as  was 


CITIZENS   IN  EMBRYO. 


107 


Bent.     It  got  noised  around  somehow  that  he  had  said,  that,  if 
he  Avas  compelled  to  go,  the  man  whom  he  thought  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it  would  be  in  some  danger,    ^e  wasn't  no  man   to 
trifle  with,  and  so  he  went  on  unmolested.     Finally  a  young 
conscript  officer  came  to  the  town,  and  talked  pretty  loud  about 
what  he  would  do.     Some  things  he  said  came  to  Walters's  ears ; 
and  he  went  over  to  see  him,  carryin'  a  walking-stick  in  his 
hand.     They  met  on  the  porch.     I  never  knew  what  passed; 
but  a  man  who  saw  it  told  me  that  the  officer  drew  his  pistol, 
an'  another  man  caught  Walters's  right  arm.     T  don't  reckon 
anybody  knows  just  how  it  was  done,  — not  even  Walters  him- 
self.    They  were  all  there  in  a  crowd ;  but  when  it  broke  up 
Walters  had  the  pistol,  the  officer  had   a  bullet  somewhere 
through  his  jaw,  another  man  had  a  broken  arm,  and  another 
had  somehow  tumbled  off  the  porch  and  sprained  his  foot,  so  that 
he  could  not  walk  for  a  month.     Walters  was  the  only  one  un- 
hurt.    He  reported  here  next  day;  was  examined  by  a  medical 
board,  and  somehow  pronounced  unfit  for  duty.     He  went  home 
a  few  days  afterwards  with  his  exemption-papers  all  in  due 
form,  and  in  fact  they  never  did  get  him.     Of  course,  he  was 
prosecuted  and  bedeviled;  but  when  the  war  was  over  there 
was  John  Walters,  — just  where  he  was  when  it  begun." 

"  That  is  a  very  unusual  experience,  Mr.  Walters,"  said  the 
colonel,  turning  towards  him  as  Durfee  concluded. 

"Yes;"  said  Walters  modestly:  "I  was  very  fortunate.  I 
looked  poorly,  as  T  always  have,  and  I  did  not  push  myself 
into  difficulty.  They  knew  if  I  went  that  I  would  desert,  and 
go  into  the  Union  lines  the  first  chance  I  got:  so  there  was  no 
use  of  sending  me  to  the  front.  But  T  had  a  much  easier  time 
than  Durfee  or  a  half-dozen  others  here.  Why,  there  is  a 
man,  Colonel,  who  lived  in  an  excavation  under  his  house  for 
eighteen  months.  There  is  another  who  staid  for  five  months 
under  a  cedar-tree  which  grew  all  alone  on  the  top  of  a  hill 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  big  road.  There's  two  others 
"  who  were  of  a  party  of  seven  who  hid  from  the  conscript 
hunters  in  a  cave  on  Martin  Holbrook's  land,  which  they  dug 
out  of  the  side  of  a  creek,  and  up  into  the  bank  above,  when 


108  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

the  "water  was  out  of  the  pond.  When  the  gate  was  shut  down, 
and  the  water  rose,  they  had  to  dive  like  otters  to  get  into  their 
hole." 

*'  That's  good  enough  material  for  a  Union  League,  isn't  it, 
Colonel?  "  asked  Durfee. 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed,  if  they  are  all  like  that,"  answered 
Servosse. 

"  That's  the  trouble,"  said  Walters  quickly,  but  without  any 
change  in  his  countenance,  except  to  turn,  and  glance  at  one 
who  had  stepped  upon  the  platform,  and  was  preparing  to  open 
the  meeting  as  its  president. 

"Never  could  trust  idm  during  the  war,"  continued  "Walters 
in  the  same  tone.  "  We  had  a  sort  of  society,  or  rather  a  set 
of  signals,  which  every  one  gave  to  his  friend  if  he  thought  he 
could  be  trusted.  If  you  served  along  the  Tennessee  or  Georgia 
lines,  you  probably  heard  of  it." 

"  Often,  both  before  and  since  the  surrender,"  said  Servosse. 
"You  mean  the  '  Red  Strings,'  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  mean.  People  talk  of  them  as  if  they 
were  a  society,  a  league,  an  order ;  but  they  were  not.  It  was 
only  a  carefully  devised  set  of  signals  of  different  kinds,  which 
one  Union  man  gave  to  another.  There  was  no  organization, 
no  head,  no  official  direction.  All  there  was  about  it  was,  that 
it  enabled  persons  of  a  common  purpose  to  recognize  each  other. 
A  bit  of  red  string  in  the  hat  or  in  a  buttonhole  was  the  most 
ordinary  symbol.  This  was  adopted  from  the  account  given  in 
the  Book  of  Joshua  of  the  red  cord  that  Rahab  let  down  from 
the  wall,  by  direction  of  the  spies  whom  she  had  succored,  in 
order  that  her  household  might  be  saved  from  spoliation  when 
the  city  was  captured." 

"  I  suppose  there  were  a  good  many  of  them,"  said  Servosse, 
"from  what  I  have  heard." 

"  The  meetin'  will  come  to  order,"  commanded  the  president 
in  a  thin,  stridulous  voice,  as  he  rapped  upon  the  rough  deal 
table  with  one  of  the  teacher's  rulers  instead  of  a  gavel.  The 
room  was  crowded  by  this  time,  and  an  instantaneous  hush  fell 
npon  the  dusky  crowd  at  this  command.     Every  one  sank  into 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  109 

his  seat,  and  those  -who  had  no  other  seats  ranged  themselves 
in  front  and  along  the  aisles  upon  the  floor.  About  the  little 
group  of  white  men  was  an  open  space ;  and  immediately  in 
front  of  the  president  was  a  small  table,  draped  with  a  Union 
flag,  and  surmounted  by  a  Bible  and  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States. 

"  The  oificers  will  take  their  appointed  stations,"  said  the 
president. 

Then  the  ceremonies  of  opening  the  meeting  went  on.  Each 
officer  was  instructed  as  to  his  duty ;  and  the  general  principles 
of  the  order  were  recapitulated  in  easy  dialogue  between  them 
and  the  president. 

"  AVill  Colonel  Servosse  conduct  the  religious  exercises?" 
asked  the  president. 

Thus  called  upon,  the  ex-Union  soldier  arose,  and  approached 
the  altar.  Remembering  the  allusion  made  to  the  Book  of 
Joshua  in  his  conversation  with  Walters,  he  opened  the  Bible, 
and  read  the  second  chapter  of  that  book,  and  called  upon  Uncle 
Jerry  to  pray.  All  stood  reverentially  silent  during  prayer, 
and  then  the  business  of  the  meeting  went  on.  Names  were 
proposed  for  membership,  committees  reported  on  former  propo- 
sitions, and  the  usual  business  of  a  secret  order  was  disposed 
of.  There  was  much  awkwardness,  no  little  bad  grammar,  but 
the  most  attent  interest,  and  an  evident  pride  and  desire  to  im- 
prove, on  the  part  of  all.  Resuming  his  seat  by  Walters,  Ser- 
vosse watched  the  proceedings  with  interest,  while  he  continued 
in  a  low  tone  the  conversation  begun  with  him  before  the 
opening. 

"  You  were  asking  if  there  were  a  good  many  of  the  '  Red 
Strings,'"  said  Walters.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  I  traveled 
a  good  deal  about  the  Confederacy,  and  I  didn't  find  no  place 
where  there  weren't  some.  I've  met  'em  in  the  streets  of  Rich' 
mond,  and  seen  'em  standing  guard  on  the  wall  of  a  military 
prison.  The  number,  however,  is  merely  a  matter  of  estimate, 
as  there  was  no  head  nor  organization,  no  system  of  reports,  and 
no  means  of  knowing  how  many  were  initiated.  It  was  slightly 
different  in  some  sections  from  others,  but  sufficiently  alike  to 


110  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

conviDce  me  that  it  all  came  from  a  common  source.  Some- 
times a  fellow  would  tell  what  he  knew;  but  he  never  knew 
much.  He  could  only  say  that  he  knew  a  few  men,  and  sus- 
pected more.  Then  we  would  change  the  signs  and  words,  and 
go  right  on  again.  There  being  no  lodges,  nor  lists  of  members, 
one  man  could  do  but  little  harm." 

"  Is  the  League  organized  to  any  great  extent  in  the  South?  * 
asked  Comfort. 

"  I  don't  know,"  responded  Walters.  "  Just  before  the  close 
of  the  war,  I  went  up  into  East  Tennessee  on  a  little  business 
that  took  me  through  the  lines,  and  I  joined  it  there.  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  It's  too  cumbrous.  Our  people  ain't  educated  enough  to 
run  it  well.     Besides  that,  I  dou't  like  these  big  meetings." 

"  But  is  it  not  an  educator  for  the  colored  men?  " 

"  I've  thought  of  that,  and  it's  the  great  redeeming  feature 
of  the  institution.  I'm  thinking  we  shall  need  something  more 
practical,  and  that  don't  make  so  much  show,  before  we  have 
done  with  the  matters  rising  out  of  the  war." 

"  You  do  not  take  a  hopeful  view  of  the  future,  then?  " 

"  Well,  that  depends  altogether  on  the  view  of  the  present 
that  the  government  and  the  Northern  peopl?  take.  If  they 
get  the  notion  that  rebellion  has  transformed  those  engaged  in 
it  into  sanctified  and  glorified  saints,  as  they  seem  in  a  way  to 
do,  why,  the  war  will  not  amount  to  any  certain  sum,  so  far  as 
liberty  and  progress  are  concerned.  Then  Union  men  an' 
niggers  will  have  to  hunt  their  holes,  and  will  be  worse  off  in 
fact  than  they  were  during  the  war.  I'm  'fraid  it's  going  to 
be  so,  Colonel ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  go  to  the  West,  where 
I  and  my  children  can  be  free  and  safe." 

""  I  hope  you  will  not  think  of  that,  ]\Ir.  AValters,"  said  the 
Fool. 

"  Well,  I  have  thought  of  it  strongly ;  but  I  have  decided  to 
stay,"  was  the  reply,  "  chiefly  because  so  many  of  you  Xorthern 
men  have  come  down  here.  I  think,  that,  if  you  can  stand  it, 
T  can.  At  least,  I  don't  think  we  native  Unionists  ought  to 
tun  away,  and  leave  you." 


CITIZENS  IN  EMBRYO.  Ill 

«  You  were  speaking  about  the  president,"  said  Comfort  sug- 
gestively. 

"  Well,"  laughed  AValters,  "  I  didn't  mean  that  there  was  any 
danger  in  him.  He  was  every  tiling  to  all  men  during  the  war, 
and  will  be  any  thing  to  anybody  until  the  end  of  time,  if  it 
will  butter  bread  for  Tommy  Sanderson." 

A  dozen  dusky  candidates  were  instructed  in  the  semi-public 
secrets  of  the  order ;  one  or  two  songs  were  sung  with  great 
enthusiasm;  a  few  addresses  were  made;  and  the  meeting 
adjourned.  As  he  rode  back  through  the  moonlit  woods  to 
Warrington,  the  Fool  recounted  what  he  had  seen  to  Metta,  — 
who  had  come  with  him,  and  stopped  at  the  Mission-House, 
visiting  with  the  teachers  while  the  meeting  was  in  progress,— 
and  told  her  that  it  gave  him  more  hope  for  a  peaceful  and 
prosperous  future  than  any  thing  he  had  yet  seen.  The  enthu- 
siasm of  a  soldier  for  his  colors  had  not  yet  died  out  in  his 
breast;  and  he  could  not  conceive  that  any  organization  which 
cultivated  only  an  unbounded  devotion  for  the  flag  in  the  breasts 
of  the  embryotic  citizens,  and  kept  alive  the  fire  of  patriotism 
in  the  hearts  of  the  old  Union  element,  should  be  a  source  of 
evil  to  any  one.  If  he  could  have  seen  what  an  affront  such 
a  meeting  in  itself  was  to  his  neighbors,  what  an  insult  it  was 
to  them  to  flaunt  the  flag  of  the  Union  in  their  faces  w^hile  that 
of  the  Confederacy,  equally  dear  to  them,  was  yet  uuforgotten, 
he  would  have  thought  differently.  If  he  had  realized  how  the 
touch  of  those  dusky  hands  fouled  that  gay  banner  in  the 
thought  of  so  many  of  his  white  neighbors,  if  he  had  but 
known  what  tears  they  would  be  called  to  shed  for  having 
sung  those  patriot  songs,  his  heart  would  have  been  sad  indeed. 
But  he  saw  no  grim  portents,  and  heeded  no  omen  of  evil. 


112  A  FOOL'S  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OUT    OF    DUE    SEASON. 

What  is  called  the  period  of  "  Reconstruction "  came  at 
last ;  and  in  tracing  our  Fool's  story  it  will  be  necessary  to 
give  some  brief  attention  to  this  era  of  our  nation's  history. 
It  is  a  short  story  as  one  reads  it  now.  Its  facts  are  few  and 
plain.  There  is  no  escape  from  them.  They  were  graven  on 
the  hearts  of  millions  with  a  burning  stylus.  Short  as  is  the 
story,  it  is  full  of  folly  and  of  shame.  Regarded  with  what- 
ever charity,  folly  and  cowardice  appear  as  its  chief  elements ; 
and  it  has  already  borne  too  bitter  a  harvest  of  crime  to  believe 
that  the  future  holds  enough  of  good  springing  from  its  gloom 
to  make  it  ever  tolerable  to  the  historian.  Let  us  as  briefly  as 
possible  retrace  its  essential  features. 

At  the  close  of  the  great  war  of  the  Rebellion  these  condi- 
tions presented  themselves  to  the  statesmen  of  the  land:  —  the 
hostile  army  was  dispersed ;  the  opposing  governmental  forms 
were  disrupted;  the  Confederacy  had  set  in  a  night  which 
was  declared  to  be  eternal,  and  its  component  elements  —  the 
subordinate  governments  or  states  of  which  it  had  been  com- 
posed—  were  dissolved. 

The  Xorth,  that  portion  of  the  country  which  for  four 
years  had  constituted  alone  the  United  States  of  America, 
was  full  of  rejoicing  and  gladness,  which  even  the  death  of  its 
martyr  President  could  not  long  repress.  Sorrow  for  the  dead 
was  lost  in  joy  for  the  living.  Banners  waved;  drums  beat; 
and  the  quick  step  of  homeward-marching  columns  echoed 
through  every  corner  of  the  land.  The  clamor  of  rejoicing 
drowned  the  sighs  of  those  who  wept  for  their  unreturning 
dead.  All  was  light  and  joy,  and  happy,  peaceful  anticipation. 
The  soldier  had  no  need  to  beat  his  spear  into  a  plowshare, 
or  his  sword  into  a  pruning-hook.     He  found  the  plow  wait- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  113 

ing  for  him  in  the  furrow.  Smiling,  peaceful  homes,  full  of 
plenty  and  comfort,  invited  him  to  new  exertion;  and  the 
prospect  of  rich  returns  for  his  labor  enabled  him  all  the  more 
easily  to  forgive  and  forget,  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  and 
throwing  away  the  laurels,  and  forgetting  the  struggles  and 
lessons  of  the  past,  contentedly  grow  fat  on  the  abundance  of 
the  present  and  the  glowing  promise  of  the  future. 

At  the  South  it  was  far  different.  Sadness  and  gloom 
covered  the  face  of  the  land.  The  returning  braves  brought 
no  joy  to  the  loving  hearts  who  had  sent  them  forth.  Nay,  their 
very  presence  kept  alive  the  chagrin  of  defeat.  Instead  of 
banners  and  music  and  gay  greeting,  silence  and  tears  were 
their  welcome  home.  Not  only  for  the  dead  were  these  lam- 
entations, but  also  for  the  living.  If  the  past  was  sorrow- 
ful, the  future  was  scarcely  less  so.  If  that  which  w^ent  be- 
fore was  imbittered  by  disappointment  and  the  memory  of 
vain  sacrifice,  that  which  was  to  come  was  darkened  with 
uncertainty  and  apprehension.  The  good  things  of  the  past 
were  apples  of  Sodom  in  the  hand  of  the  present.  The  miser's 
money  was  as  dust  of  the  highway  in  value  ;  the  obligor,  in 
his  indefinite  promise  to  pay,  had  vanished,  and  the  hoarder 
only  had  a  gray  piece  of  paper  stamped  with  the  fair  pledge  of 
a  ghostly  nation.  The  planter's  slaves  had  become  freedraen 
while  he  was  growing  into  a  hero,  and  no  longer  owed  fealty  or 
service  to  him  or  his  family.  The  home  where  he  had  lived  in 
luxury  was  almost  barren  of  necessities  :  even  the  ordinary 
comforts  of  life  were  wanting  at  his  fireside.  A  piece  of  corn- 
bread,  with  a  glass  of  milk,  and  bit  of  bacon,  was,  perhaps,  the 
richest  welcome-feast  that  wifely  love  could  devise  for  the  re- 
turning hero.  Time  and  the  scath  of  w^ar  had  wrought  ruin  in 
his  home.  The  hedgerows  were  upgrown,  and  the  ditches 
stopped.  Those  whom  he  had  been  wont  to  see  in  delicate 
array  were  clad  in  homespun.  His  loved  ones  who  had  been 
reared  in  luxury  were  living  in  poverty.  While  he  had  fought, 
interest  had  run.  War  had  not  extinguished  debt.  What 
was  a  mere  bagatelle  when  slaves  and  stocks  were  at  their 
highest  was  a  terrible  incuhus  when  slaves  were  no  more,  and 


114  A   FOOUS  ERRAyn. 

banks  were  broken.  The  army  of  creditors  was  even  more 
terrible  than  the  army  with  banners,  to  whom  he  had  sur- 
rendered. If  the  past  was  dark,  the  future  was  Cimmerian. 
Shame  and  defeat  were  behind,  gloom  and  apprehension 
before. 

Here  and  there  throughout  the  subjugated  land  were  de- 
tachments and  posts  of  the  victorious  army,  gradually  growing 
smaller  and  fewer  as  the  months  slipped  by.  The  forerunners 
of  trade  appeared  before  the  smoke  of  battle  had  fairly  cleared 
away.  After  a  little,  groups  of  Northern  men  settled,  to  engage 
in  commerce,  or  to  till  the  soil.  The  cotton  and  tobacco  which 
remained  of  the  slender  crops  of  the  years  of  war  brought 
fabulous  prices.  The  hope  of  their  continuance  was  the  one 
bright  spot  in  the  future. 

The  freedmen,  dazed  with  new-found  liberty,  crowded  the 
to^Mis  and  camps,  or  wandered  aimlessly  here  and  there. 
Hardly  poorer  than  their  late  masters,  they  were  better  pre- 
pared for  poverty.  They  had  been  indurated  to  want,  exposure, 
and  toil.  Slavery  had  been  a  hard  school;  but  in  it  they  had 
learned  more  than  one  lesson  which  was  valuable  to  them  now. 
They  could  endure  the  present  better  than  their  old  masters' 
families,  and  had  never  learned  to  dread  the  future. 

So  a  part  of  the  re-united  country  was  in  light,  and  the 
other  part  in  darkness,  and  between  the  two  was  a  zone  of 
bloody  graves. 

The  question  for  the  wise  was:  How  shall  this  be  made 
light,  without  darkening  that  ?  Xot  an  easy  question  for  the 
wisest  and  bravest;  one  which  was  sure  of  no  solution,  or 
only  the  ill  one  of  chance  or  mischance,  as  the  Fates  might 
direct,  at  the  hands  of  vanity,  folly,  and  ambition. 

For  two  years  there  were  indecision  and  bickering  and  cross- 
purposes  and  false  promises.  The  South  waited  sullenly  ;  the 
North  wonderingly. 

There  were  four  plans  proposed  :  — 

The  Jirst  was,  that  the  State  machinery  of  the  ante  helium 
daj^s  in  the  lately  denationalized  sections  should  be  set  in 
motion,  and   the  re-organized  communities   restored   to   their 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  115 

former  positions  without  change,  except  as  to  individuals; 
just  as  you  renew  a  wheel  in  a  worn-out  clock,  and,  starting 
the  pendulum,  set  it  again  to  its  work. 

This,  without  unnecessary  verbiage,  was  the  President's  plan. 
It  would  have  done  no  harm  if  he  had  been  content  to  suggest 
it  merely;  but  he  tried  to  carry  it  into  execution,  and  thereby 
not  only  endangered  himself,  but  raised  hopes  which  he  could 
not  satisfy,  and  sowed  the  seeds  of  discontent  with  whatsoever 
might  be  done  afterwards. 

The  second  scheme  was  a  makeshift,  inspired  by  fright  at 
what  had  been  done,  and  a  desire  to  avoid  what  must  be  done. 
Emancipation  had  left  four  millions  of  people  in  most  anoma- 
lous relations  to  the  other  five  or  six  millions  under  whom 
they  had  been  enslaved.  They  were  a  new  and  troublesome 
element.  They  must  be  taken  care  of  by  their  liberators,  or 
abandoned.  This  plan  was  devised  in  the  hope  of  finding 
a  way  to  escape  doing  either.  It  was,  in  short,  to  allow  the 
vagrant  States  to  come  back  into  the  national  fold,  shorn  of 
such  strength  as  they  might  lose  by  deducting  from  their  repre- 
sentation the  ratio  of  representative  power  formerly  allowed 
to  the  non-voting  colored  race,  unless  the  same  should  be  en- 
franchised by  their  organic  law. 

The  South,  which  had  been  led  by  the  foolish  usurpative 
acts  of  the  President  to  expect  an  unconditional  restoration, 
rejected  this  proposition  with  scorn.  They  regarded  it  as  an 
attempt  to  bribe  them  into  the  acceptance  of  the  results  of 
emancipation  by  the  offer  of  power  as  a  reward  for  their  con- 
currence. Such  a  view  can  not  be  claimed  to  have  been 
illogical. 

The  third  plan,  which  remains  to  be  considered,  was  of  a 
different  character.  It  neither  shirked  nor  temporized.  It 
accepted  the  past,  and  sought  to  guarantee  the  future.  It  did 
not  regard  immediate  re-organization  of  the  recently  rebellious 
communities  upon  a  Federal  basis,  as  necessary  or  desirable. 
Without  seeking  vengeance,  it  took  warning  from  what  had 
been,  and  sought  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of  evil.  It  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  a  doctrine  which  had  been  known  as  State 


116  A   FOOUS  ERRAND.  " 

Sovereignty  was  at  the  root  of  the  evil,  and  that  the  nation 
had  taken  a'  race  from  bondage  which  it  was  morally  bound 
to  prepare  for  freedom.  So  it  proposed  that  the  States  which 
had  been  in  the  infected  region  should  be  quietly  left  to 
molder  in  the  grave  of  rebellion,  —  the  bed  they  had  them- 
selves prepared ;  that  the  region  they  once  embraced  should  be 
divided  up  into  Territories  without  regard  to  former  statal 
lines,  and  so  remain  for  a  score  of  years  under  national  con- 
trol, but  without  power  to  mold  or  fashion  the  national 
legislation  —  until  time  should  naturally  and  thoroughly  have 
healed  the  breaches  of  the  past,  till  commerce  had  become 
re-established,  and  the  crude  ideas  of  the  present  had  been 
clarified  by  the  light  of  experience.  It  recognized  as  an  unde- 
niable fact  the  idea  that  men  who  had  gazed  into  each  other's 
faces  over  gleaming  gun-barrels,  by  the  fateful  blaze  of 
battle,  were  not  so  fit  to  adjust  the  questions  arising  out  of  the 
conflict  as  those  yet  unborn.  It  was  based  upon  the  fact,  too, 
that  the  slave  was  not  made  fit  for  unrestrained  political  power 
by  the  simple  fact  of  freedom.  Slavery  might  be  ended  as  a 
legal  status  by  proclamation,  but  as  a  living  fact  it  could  not. 
The  hands  could  be  unshackled  by  a  constitutional  amend- 
ment; but  heart  and  brain  must  have  an  opportunity  to  expand, 
before  tbe  ireedman  could  be  capable  of  automatic  liberty. 

To  this  doctrine  the  Fool  subscribed  all  the  more  readily, 
because  he  thought  he  saw  the  exemplification  of  its  princi- 
ples about  him  day  by  day.  Besides  that,  he  thought  it  only 
fair  and  honest  that  the  government  which  had  cut  the  freed- 
man  loose  from  slavery  should  watch  over  him  until  he  could 
walk  erect  in  his  new  estate. 

The  second  Christmas  in  his  new  home  had  come  before 
any  thing  was  done;  then  a  plan  was  adopted  which  was  a 
compromise  among  all  these  ideas.  This  was  the  fourth 
plan.  It  was  not  selected  because  those  who  chose  it  deemed 
it  the  best  manner  for  settling  the  ills  with  which  the  body 
politic  had  been  afflicted;  not  at  all.  No  one  can  be  so 
simple-minded  as  to  believe  that.  The /ar  future  was  very  dim 
to  the  legislators'  eyes  when  they  adopted  it :  the  near  future 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON,  .       117 

was  what  they  dreaded.  A  great  election  was  at  hand.  The 
President  and  his  supporters  were  going  to  the  country  on 
his  plan  of  reconstruction.  When  the  Congress  threatened 
impeachment,  he  sought  for  justification  at  the  ballot-box. 
Some  plan  must  be  devised  with  which  to  meet  him.  What 
should  it  be?  The  logic  which  carries  elections  answered, 
"  One  on  which  all  who  are  opposed  to  the  presidential  plan 
in  the  North  can  be  induced  to  unite."  From  this  womb  of 
party  necessity  and  political  insincerity  came  forth  this  abor- 
tion, or,  rather,  this  monster,  doomed  to  parricide  in  the  hour 
of  its  birth. 

Like  all  compromises,  it  had  the  evils  of  all  the  plans  from 
which  its  pieces  came,  and  the  merits  of  none  of  them.  The 
coward,  who,  running  mth  his  conscience  and  holding  with  his 
fear,  makes  a  compromise  by  taking  the  head  of  one  thought 
and  the  tail  of  another,  is  sure  to  get  the  wrong  ends  of  both. 

Added  to  this  was  the  very  remarkable  fact  that  this 
plan,  in  common  with  two  of  the  discarded  ones,  took  no  ac- 
count of  that  strange  and  mysterious  influence  which  ranges 
all  the  way  from  a  religious  principle  to  a  baseless  prejudice, 
according  to  the  stand-point  of  the  observer,  but  always 
remains  a  most  unaccountable  yet  still  stubborn  fact  in  all 
that  pertains  to  the  governmental  organisms  of  the  South, 
—  the  popular  feeling  in  regard  to  the  African  population 
of  that  section.  That  a  servile  race,  isolated  from  the  domi- 
nant one  by  the  fact  of  color  and  the  universally  accepted 
dogma  of  inherent  inferiority,  to  say  nothing  of  a  very  general 
belief  of  its  utter  incapacity  for  the  civilization  to  which  the 
Caucasian  has  attained,  should  be  looked  on  with  distrust  and 
aversion,  if  not  with  positive  hatred,  as  a  co-ordinate  political 
power,  by  their  former  masters,  would  seem  so  natural,  that  one 
could  hardly  expect  men  of  ordinary  intelligence  to  overlook  it. 
That  this  should  arouse  a  feeling  of  very  intense  bitterness 
when  it  came  as  the  result  of  conquest,  and  the  freedom  en- 
joyed by  the  subject-race  was  inseparably  linked  with  the 
memory  of  loss  and  humiliation  in  the  mind  of  the  master, 
would  seem  equally  apparent.      But  when  to  these  facts  was 


118  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

added  the  knowledge  that  whoever  should  advocate  such  an 
elevation  of  the  blacks,  in  that  section,  was  certain  to  be 
regarded  as  putting  himself  upon  their  social  level  in  a  com- 
munity where  the  offender  against  caste  becomes  an  outlaw  in 
fact,  it  seems  impossible  that  the  wise  men  of  that  day  should 
have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  have  seen  that  they  were  doing 
the  utmost  possible  injury  to  the  colored  race,  the  country,  and 
tiiemselves,  by  propounding  a  plan  of  re-organization  which 
depended  for  its  success  upon  the  effective  and  prosperous  ad- 
ministration of  state  governments  by  this  class,  in  connection 
with  the  few^  of  the  dominant  race,  who,  from  whatever  motives, 
might  be  willing  to  put  themselves  on  the  same  level  with 
them  in  the  estimation  of  their  white  neighbors.  Of  these 
there  could  be  but  the  following  classes  :  martyrs,  who  were 
willing  to  endure  ostracism  and  obloquy  for  the  sake  of  prin- 
ciple; self-seekers,  who  were  willing  to  do  or  be  any  thing  and 
everything  for  the  sake  of  power,  place,  and  gain;  and  fools, 
w^ho  hoped  that  in  some  inscrutable  way  the  laws  of  human 
nature  would  be  suspended,  or  that  the  state  of  affairs  at  first 
presenting  itself  would  be  but  temporary.  The  former  class, 
it  might  have  been  known,  would  naturally  be  small.  Martyrs 
do  not  constitute  any  large  proportion  of  any  form  or  state  of 
society.  Especially  were  they  not  to  be  looked  for  in  a  section 
where  public  opinion  had  been  dominated  by  an  active  and 
potent  minority,  until  independent  thought  upon  certain  sub- 
jects had  been  utterly  strangled.  Self-seekers,  on  the  contrary, 
those  who  can  be  swayed  by  motives  of  interest  or  ambition, 
regardless  alike  of  principle  and  the  approbation  of  those  by 
whom  they  are  surrounded,  are  to  be  found  in  all  ranks  :iii<l 
classes ;  while  fools  who  have  stamina  enough  to  swim  for  any 
great  time  against  a  strong  popular  current  are  not  to  be  looked 
for  in  any  great  numbers  in  any  ordinary  community. 


HOW   THE    WISE  MEM  BUILDED.  119 


CHAPTER  XXL 

HOW    THE    WISE   MEN    BUILDED. 

So  it  must  have  been  well  understood  by  the  wise  men  who 
devised  this  short-sighted  plan  of  electing  a  President  beyond 
a  peradventure  of  defeat,  that  they  were  giving  the  power  of 
the  re-organized,  subordinate  republics,  into  the  hands  of  a 
race  unskilled  in  public  affairs,  poor  to  a  degree  hardly  to  be 
matched  in  the  civilized  world,  and  so  ignorant  that  not  five  out 
of  a  hundred  of  its  voters  could  read  their  own  ballots,  joined 
with  such  Adullamites  among  the  native  whites  as  might  be 
willing  to  face  a  proscription  which  would  shut  the  house  of 
God  in  the  face  of  their  families,  together  with  the  few^  men 
of  Northern  birth,  resident  in  that  section  since  the  close  of 
the  w^ar,  —  either  knaves  or  fools,  or  partaking  of  the  nature 
of  both,  —  who  might  elect  to  become  permanent  citizens,  and 
join  in  the  movement. 

Against  them  was  to  be  pitted  the  wealth,  the  intelligence, 
the  organizing  skill,  the  pride,  and  the  hate  of  a  people  whom 
it  had  taken  four  years  to  conquer  in  open  fight  when  then 
enemies  outnumbered  them  three  to  one,  who  were  animated 
chiefly  by  the  apprehension  of  what  seemed  now  about  to  bo 
forced  upon  them  by  this  miscalled  measure  of  "  Reconstruct 
tion  ;  "  to  wit,  the  equality  of  the  negro  race. 

It  was  done,  too,  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that  within  the  pr<=»' 
ceding  twelvemonth  the  white  people  of  the  South,  by  then- 
representatives  in  the  various  Legislatures  of  the  Johnsonian 
period,  had  absolutely  refused  to  recognize  this  equality,  even 
in  the  slightest  matters,  by  refusing  to  allow  the  colored  people  to 
test  if}/  in  cowts  of  Justice  against  white  men,  or  to  protect  their 
rights  of  person  and  property  in  any  manner  from  the  avarice, 
lust,  or  brutality  of  their  white  neighbors.  It  was  done  in  the 
very  face  of   the  "  Black  Codes,"  which  w^ere  the  first  enact- 


120  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

ments  of  Provisional  Legislatures,  and  which  would  have 
established  a  serfdom  more  complete  than  that  of  the  Russian 
steppes  before  the  ukase  of  Alexander. 

Aud  the  men  who  devised  this  plan  called  themselves 
honest  and  wise  statesmen.  More  than  one  of  them  has  since 
then  hugged  himself  in  gratulation  under  the  belief,  that,  by 
his  co-operation  therein,  he  had  cheaply  achieved  an  immor- 
tality of  praise  from  the  liberty-lovers  of  the  earth !  After 
having  forced  a  proud  people  to  yield  what  they  had  for  more 
than  two  centuries  considered  a  right,  —  the  right  to  hold  the 
African  race  in  bondage,  — they  proceeded  to  outrage  a  feeling 
as  deep  and  fervent  as  the  zeal  of  Islam  or  the  exclusiveness 
of  Hindoo  caste,  by  giving  to  the  ignorant,  unskilled,  and 
dependent  race  —  a  race  who  could  not  have  lived  a  week 
without  the  support  or  charity  of  the  dominant  one  —  equali- 
ty of  political  right !  Not  content  with  this,  they  went  farther, 
and,  by  erecting  the  rebellious  territory  into  self-regulating 
and  sovereign  States,  they  abandoned  these  parties  like  cocks 
in  a  pit,  to  fight  out  the  question  of  predominance  without 
the  possibility  of  national  interference.  They  said  to  the 
colored  man,  in  the  language  of  one  of  the  pseudo-philosophers 
of  that  day,  "  Root,  hog,  or  die !  " 

It  was  cheap  patriotism,  cheap  philanthropy,  cheap  success  ! 

Yet  it  had  its  excuse,  which  we  are  bound  to  set  forth.  The 
Korth  and  the  South  had  been  two  households  in  one  house  — 
two  nations  under  one  name.  The  intellectual,  moral,  and  social 
life  of  each  had  been  utterly  distinct  and  separate  from  that 
of  the  other.  They  no  more  understood  or  appreciated  each 
other's  feelings  or  development  than  John  Chinaman  compre- 
hends the  civilization  of  John  Bull.  It  is  true  they  spoke  the 
same  language,  used  the  same  governmental  forms,  and,  most 
unfortunately,  thought  they  comprehended  each  other's  ideas. 
Each  thought  they  knew  the  thought  and  purpose  of  the  other 
better  than  the  thinker  knew  his  own.  The  Xorthern  man 
despised  his  Southern  fellow-citizen  in  bulk,  as  a  good-natured 
braggadocio,  mindful  of  his  own  ease,  fond  of  power  and  dis- 
play, aud  with   no   animating  principle  which   could   in   any 


HOW  THE    WISE  MEN  BUILDED. 


121 


manner  interfere  with  his  interest.  The  Southern  man  de- 
spised his  Northern  compeer  as  cold-blooded,  selfish,  hypocriti- 
cal, cowardly,  and  envious. 

This  is  how  they  played  at  cross-purposes,  each  thinking 
that  he  knew  the  other's  heart  far  better  than  he  sought  to 
know  his  own. 

ANTE  BELLUM. 

NORTHERN  IDEA  OF  SLAVERY.      SOUTHERN  IDEA  OF  SLAVERY. 


Slavery  is  wrong  morally,  po- 
litically, and  economically.  It 
is  tolerated  only  for  the  sake  of 
peace  and  quiet.  The  negro  is 
a  man,  and  has  equal  inherent 
rights  with  the  white  race. 


The  negro  is  fit  only  for  slavery. 
It  is  sanctioned  by  the  Bible,  and 
it  must  be  right;  or,  if  not  exactly 
right,  is  unavoidable,  now  that 
the  race  is  among  us.  We  can 
not  live  with  them  in  any  other 
condition. 


NORTHERN  IDEA  OF  THE  SOUTH- 
ERN IDEA. 

Those  Southern  fellows  know 
that  slavery  is  wrong,  and  incom- 
patible with  the  theory  of  our  gov- 
ernment ;  but  it  is  a  good  thing 
for  them.  They  grow  fat  and 
rich,  and  have  a  good  time,  on  ac- 
count of  it;  and  no  one  can  blame 
them  for  not  wanting  to  give  it  up. 


SOUTHERN  IDEA    OF    THE    NORTH- 
ERN IDEA. 

Those  Yankees  are  jealous  be- 
cause we  make  slavery  profitable, 
raising  cotton  and  tobacco,  and 
want  to  deprive  us  of  our  slaves 
from  envy.  They  don't  believe 
a  word  of  what  they  say  about  its 
being  wrong,  except  a  few  fanat- 
ics.   The  rest  are  all  hypocrites. 


POST  BELLUM. 


THE  NORTHERN  IDEA   OF  THE 
SITUATION. 

The  negroes  are  free  now,  and 
must  have  a  fair  chance  to  make 
themselves  something.  What  is 
claimed  about  their  inferiority 
may  be  true.  It  is  not  likely  to 
approve  itself,  but,  true  or  false, 
they  have  a  right  to  equality  be- 
fore the  law.    That  is  what  the 


THE   SOUTHERN    IDEA    OF  THE 
SITUATION. 

We  have  lost  our  slaves,  our 
bank  stock,  every  thing,  by  the 
war.  We  have  been  beaten,  and 
have  honestly  surrendered :  slave- 
ry is  gone,  of  course.  The  slave 
is  now  free,  but  he  is  not  white. 
We  have  no  ill  will  towards  the 
colored  man  as  such  aud  in  his 


122 


A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 


war  meant,  and  this  must  be 
secured  to  tbem.  The  rest  they 
must  get  as  they  can,  or  do  with- 
out, as  they  choose. 


place  ;  but  he  is  not  our  equal, 
can  not  be  made  our  equal,  and 
we  will  not  be  ruled  bj-  him,  or 
admit  him  as  a  co-ordinate  with 
the  white  race  in  power.  We 
have  no  objection  to  his  voting,  so 
long  as  he  votes  as  his  old  mas- 
ter, or  the  man  for  whom  he 
labors,  advises  him;  but,  when 
he  chooses  to  vote  differently,  he 
must  take  the  consequences. 


THE     NORTHERN     IDEA     OF      THE 
SOUTHERN  IDEA. 

Now  that  the  negro  is  a  voter, 
the  Southern  peoi>le  will  have  to 
treat  him  well,  because  they  will 
need  his  vote.  The  negi-o  will 
remain  true  to  the  government 
and  party  which  gave  him  liberty, 
and  in  order  to  secure  its  preser- 
vation. Enough  of  the  Southern 
whites  will  go  with  them,  for  the 
sake  of  office  and  power,  to  en- 
able them  to  retain  permanent 
control  of  those  States  for  an  in- 
definite period.  The  negroes  will 
go  to  work,  and  things  will  grad- 
ually adjust  themselves.  The 
South  has  no  right  to  complain. 
They  would  have  the  negroes  as 
slaves,  kept  the  country  in  con- 
stant turmoil  for  the  sake  of 
them,  brought  on  the  war  be- 
cause we  would  not  catch  their 
runaways,  killed  a  million  of 
men  ;  and  now  they  can  not 
complain  if  the  very  weapon  by 
which  they  held  power  is  turned 
against  them,  and  is  made  the 
means  of  righting  the  wrongs 
which  they  have  themselves  cre- 
ated. It  may  be  hard ;  but  they 
will  learn  to  do  better  hereafter. 


THE 


SOUTHERN   IDEA   OF   THE 
NORTHERN  IDEA. 


The  negro  is  made  a  voter  sim- 
ply to  degi-ade  and  disgrace  the 
white  people  of  the  South.  The 
North  cares  nothing  about  the 
negro  as  a  man,  but  only  enfran- 
chises him  in  order  to  humiliate 
and  enfeeble  us.  Of  course,  it 
makes  no  difference  to  the  people 
of  the  North  whether  he  is  a 
voter  or  not.  There  are  so  few 
colored  men  there,  that  there  is 
no  fear  of  one  of  them  being  elect- 
ed to  office,  going  to  the  Legis- 
lature, or  sitting  on  the  bench. 
The  whole  purpose  of  the  meas- 
ure is  to  insult  and  degrade.  But 
only  wait  until  the  States  are 
restored  and  the  "Blue  Coats" 
are  out  of  the  waj^  and  we  will 
show  them  their  mistake. 


HOW   THE    WISE  MEN  BUI  IDE  D.  123 

There  was  just  enough  of  truth  in  each  of  these  estimates  of 
the  other's  characteristics  to  mislead.  The  South,  as  a  mass, 
was  honest  in  its  belief  of  the  righteousness  of  slavery,  both 
morally  and  politically.  The  North,  in  like  manner,  was 
equally  honest  in  its  conviction  with  regard  to  the  wickedness 
of  slavery,  and  its  inconsistency  with  republican  institutions ; 
yet  neither  credited  the  other  with  honesty.  The  South  was 
right  in  believing  that  the  North  cared  little  or  nothing  for  the 
negro  a<i  a  man,  but  wrong  in  the  idea  that  the  theory  of  political 
equality  and  manhood  suffrage  was  invented  or  imposed  from 
any  thought  of  malice,  revenge,  or  envy  toward  the  South.  The 
wdsh  to  degrade  did  not  enter  into  the  Northern  mind  in  this 
connection.  The  idea  that  "  of  one  blood  are  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth,"  and  that  "race,  color,  or  previous  condition  of 
servitude,"  can  not  be  allowed  to  affect  the  legal  or  political 
rights  of  any,  was  a  living  principle  in  the  Northern  mind,  as 
little  capable  of  suppression  as  the  sentiment  of  race-antago- 
nism by  which  it  was  met,  and  whose  intensity  it  persistently 
discredited. 

There  was  another  thing  which  the  wise  men  who  were 
rebuilding  the  citadel  of  Liberty  in  such  hot  haste  quite 
forgot.  In  judging  of  the  South,  and  predicting  \U  future 
course,  they  pictured  it  to  themselves  as  the  Norta  would 
be  with  an  infusion,  so  to  speak,  of  newly-enfranchised 
blacks  amounting  to  one-third  of  its  aggregate  population : 
in  other  words,  they  accounted  the  result  of  emancipation 
as  the  only  differential  feature  by  which  the  South  was  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  North.  They  did  not  estimate  aright 
the  effects,  upon  the  white  people  of  the  South,  of  an  essen- 
tially different  civilization  and  development.  They  said, 
"The  South  has  heretofore  differed  from  the  North  onlt/  in 
the  institution  of  slavery.  That  is  now  removed;  only  the 
freedmen  remain  as  a  sign  of  its  existence :  therefore,  the 
South  is  as  the  North  would  be  with  this  element  added  to 
its  population."  It  was  a  strange  mistake.  The  ideas  of 
generations  do  not  perish  in  an  hour.  Divergent  civilizations 
can  not  be  made  instantly  identical  by  uprooting  a  single 
institution. 


124  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND.  "" 

Among  the  peculiarities  which  marked  the  difference  be- 
tween  Xorthem  and  Southern  society  was  one  so  distinct  and 
evident,  one  which  had  been  so  often  illustrated  in  our  political 
history,  that  it  seems  almost  impossible  that  shrewd  observers 
of  that  history  should  for  a  moment  have  overlooked  or  under- 
estimated it.  This  is  the  influence  of  family  position,  social 
rank,  or  political  prominence.  Leadership,  in  the  sense  of  a 
blind,  unquestioning  following  of  a  man,  without  his  being  the 
peculiar  exponent  of  an  idea,  is  a  thing  almost  unknown  at 
the  North :  at  the  South  it  is  a  power.  Every  family  there 
has  its  clientelage,  its  followers,  who  rally  to  its  lead  as 
quickly,  and  with  almost  as  unreasoning  a  faith,  as  the  old 
Scottish  clansmen,  summoned  by  the  burning  cross.  By  means 
of  this  fact  slavery  had  been  perpetuated  for  fifty  years.  It 
was  through  this  peculiarity  that  secession  and  rebellion  be- 
came dominant  there.  This  fact  seems  to  have  been  dimly 
recognized,  though  not  at  all  understood  or  appreciated,  by 
those  who  originated  what  are  known  as  the  Reconstruction 
Acts.  They  seem  to  have  supposed,  that,  if  this  class  were 
deprived  of  actual  political  position,  they  would  thereby  be 
shorn  of  political  influence :  so  it  was  provided  that  all  who 
had  any  such  prominence  as  to  have  been  civil  or  military 
ofl&cers  before  the  war,  and  had  afterwards  engaged  in  rebel- 
lion, should  not  be  allowed  to  vote,  or  hold  oflSce,  until  relieved 
from  such  disability. 

It  was  a  fatal  mistake.  The  dead  leader  has  always  more 
followers  than  his  living  peer.  Every  henchman  of  those 
lordlings  at  whom  this  blow  was  aimed  felt  it  far  more  keenly 
than  he  would  if  it  had  lighted  on  his  own  cheek.  The  king 
of  every  village  was  dethroned;  the  magnate  of  every  cross- 
roads was  degraded.  Henceforward,  each  and  every  one  of 
their  satellites  was  bound  to  eternal  hostility  toward  these 
measures  and  to  all  that  might  result  therefrom. 

So  the  line  of  demarkation  was  drawn.  Upon  the  one  side 
were  found  only  those  who  constituted  what  was  termed  re- 
spectable people, —  the  bulk  of. those  of  the  white  race  who  had 
ruled  the  South  in  ante  helium  days,  who  had  fostered  slavery, 


HOW  THE    WISE  MEN  BUILDED,  125 

and  been  fattened  by  it,  who  had  made  it  the  dominant  power 
in  the  nation,  together  with  the  mass  of  those  whose  courage 
and  capacity  had  organized  rebellion,  and  led  the  South  in  that 
marvelous  struggle  for  separation.  On  the  other  side  were  the 
pariahs  of  the  land,  to  designate  the  different  classes  of  which, 
three  words  were  used:  "Niggers,"  the  newly-enfranchised 
African  voters ;  "  Scalawags,"  the  native  whites  who  were 
willing  to  accept  the  reconstruction  measures ;  and  "  Carpet- 
baggers," all  men  of  Northern  birth,  resident  in  the  South, 
who  should  elect  to  speak  or  act  in  favor  of  such  reconstruc- 
tion. 

The  ban  of  proscription  spared  neither  age  nor  sex,  and  was 
never  relaxed.  In  business  or  pleasure,  in  friendship  or  reli- 
gion, in  the  market  or  the  church,  it  was  omnipotent.  Men 
were  excluded  from  the  Lord's  Communion  for  establishing 
sabbath  schools  for  colored  people.  Those  who  did  not  curse 
the  measure,  its  authors,  and  the  government  by  which  it  was 
administered,  were  henceforth  shunned  as  moral  and  social 
lepers.  The  spirit  of  the  dead  Confederacy  was  stronger  than 
the  mandate  of  the  nation  to  which  it  had  succumbed  in  battle. 

The  "scalawags"  were  few.  Those  who  could  brave  the 
torrent  of  proscription  poured  upon  them  by  that  society  which 
had  been  their  boast  as  the  most  excellent  on  earth  were  not 
many.  For  a  time,  the  instincts  of  what  was  termed  "Union- 
ism" either  held  some  of  the  former  political  leaders  in  the 
background,  or  led  them  to  affiliate  somewhat  coolly  with  the 
party  of  reconstruction.  The  "  Union  "  of  1861  was,  however, 
a  very  different  thing  from  that  of  a  half-dozen  years  later. 
The  advocacy  of  a  simple  coherence  of  the  States  under  one 
formal  government  was  all  that  distinguished  the  "  Unionist " 
of  1861  from  his  "Secessionist"  neighbor,  who  favored  the 
expurgation  of  '^  E  plurihus  unum"  and  would  write  instead, 
'"'■  Ex  linn  duo."  Their  views  on  all  other  subjects  were  in  thor- 
ough harmony.  It  was  only  on  this  point  that  they  differed. 
It  was  a  stubborn  and  a  radical  difference,  however,  for  which 
thousands  of  them  had  laid  down  their  lives,  and  others  suffered 
untold  miseries  and  persecutions;   for  the  gentlemen  of  the 


126  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

South  were  harsh  masters,  and  did  not  permit  dissent  from 
their  political  views  to  be  entertained  or  expressed  with  impu- 
nity. Those  Union  men  who  really  maintained  their  integrity 
and  devotion  to  the  Federal  Union  through  the  war,  and  em- 
braced the  republican  view  at  its  close,  were,  consequently, 
mostly  of  that  class  who  are  neither  rich  nor  poor,  who  were 
land-owners,  but  not  slave-owners.  The  few  who  were  of  the 
higher  class  had  been  so  completely  shut  out  from  the  intellec- 
tual movements  of  the  North  during  those  momentous  years, 
that,  as  a  rule,  they  were  utterly  confounded  at  the  result 
which  was  before  them.  They  had  looked  for  the  nation  to 
come  back  to  them,  when  its  power  was  re-established,  abso- 
lutely unchanged  and  unmodified.  It  came  back,  instead,  with 
a  new  impetus,  a  new  life,  born  of  the  stormy  years  that  had 
intervened,  putting  under  its  feet  the  old  issues  which  had 
divided  parties,  scornful  of  ancient  statesmanship,  and  mocking 
the  graybeards  who  had  been  venerated  as  sages  in  "  the  good 
old  days  of  the  Republic." 

But  for  those  Southern  men,  who,  knowing  and  realizing  all 
these  changes,  facing  all  these  dangers  and  discomforts,  recog- 
nizing the  inexorable  logic  of  events,  and  believing  in  and 
desiring  to  promote  the  ultimate  good  which  must  flow  there- 
from, in  good  faith  accepted  the  arbitrament  of  war,  and 
staked  their  "  lives,  fortunes,  and  sacred  honor,"  in  support  of 
this  new  dispensation  of  liberty,  words  enough  of  praise  can 
not  be  found !  Nor  yet  words  enough  of  scorn  for  their  asso- 
ciates and  affiliates  of  the  North,  who  not  only  refused  them 
the  meed  of  due  credit  for  their  self-sacrifice  and  devotion,  but 
also  made  haste  to  visit  them  with  coolness,  indignity,  and  dis- 
crediting contempt,  because  they  did  not  perform  the  impossi- 
ble task  which  the  Wise  men  had  imposed  upon  them.  Phari- 
seeism  is  by  no  means  admirable  in  its  best  estate  ;  but  the 
genuine  article  is  far  less  despicable  than  the  spurious. 

Another  peculiarity  of  this  remarkable  scheme  was,  that, 
while  it  professed  to  punish  one  class  by  excluding  them  from 
the  ballot  (a  punishment  which  had  only  the  effect  to  enrage), 
it  made  no  offer  of  encouragement  or  reward  to  those  who  had 


HOW   THE    WISE  MEN  BU TIDED.  127 

stood  the  fast  friends  of  the  nation  in  the  hour  of  its  peril. 
The  ingratitude  of  republics  is  the  tritest  of  thoughts,  but 
there  never  was  a  more  striking  illustration  of  its  verity.  Per- 
haps no  nation  ever  before,  after  the  suppression  of  a  rebellion 
which  threatened  its  life,  quite  forgot  the  claims  of  those  who 
had  been  its  friends  in  the  disaffected  region. 

There  w^ere  throughout  the  South  thousands  of  men  who 
were  Unionists  pure  and  simple.  As  a  rule,  they  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  antislavery  idea  which  had  come  to  permeate 
the  whole  mental  life  of  the  North.  Slavery  was  to  them  as 
much  a  matter  of  course  as  any  event  of  their  every-day 
life.  Very  many  of  them  were  hereditary  slave-owners.  The 
inferiority,  inherent  and  fore-ordained,  of  the  colored  man, 
was  as  much  an  article  of  faith  w^ith  them  as  any  portion  of 
the  Sacred  Word.  Not  only  this,  but  they  believed  with 
equal  sincerity  that  the  normal  and  proper  sphere  of  the 
inferior  race  was  slavery.  They  might  regret  its  abuses,  that 
there  should  be  cruel  and  ruthless  masters  and  brutal  over- 
seers, just  as  they  did  when  an  up-country  teamster  abused 
his  overloaded  horses;  but  they  were  no  more  troubled  with 
qualms  of  conscience  in  regard  to  the  enslavement  of  the  one 
than  as  to  the  driving  of  the  other.  Such  a  man  wasN  in  favor 
of  the  Union  from  a  profound  conviction  of  its  glory,  a  tradi- 
tional patriotism,  or  a  belief  that  secession  and  disunion  would 
be  ruinous  and  fatal;  but  he  did  not  look  for  or  desire  the 
abolition  of  slavery  in  bulk  or  as  an  institution.  His  attach- 
ment to  the  Union  was  an  absorbing  devotion  to  an  abstract 
idea.  He  had  no  hostility  to  the  ultimate  object  of  secession, 
—  the  security  and  perpetuity  of  slavery,  —  but  only  to  the 
means  by  which  it  was  accomplished.  He  worshiped  the 
Union  ;  but  it  was  the  Union  with  slavery,  except  as  the  right 
to  hold  slaves  might  be  forfeited  by  rebellion ;  which  forfeiture 
he  believed  would  be  purely  personal,  and  would  affect  only 
those  actually  guilty  of  rebellious  acts.  Such  was  the  position 
of  the  Southern  Unionist  at  the  beginning  of  the  war.  Some 
receded  from  it  as  the  struggle  progressed;  but  many  thou- 
sands held  to  their  faith  in  spite  of  every  persuasion  and  per- 


128  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

seciition  which  could  be  brought  against  them.  The  heroism 
of  many  of  these  men  was  fully  equal  to  the  highest  courage 
and  devotion  shown  upon  the  field  of  battle.  They  dodged, 
hid,  fought,  struggled,  and  in  all  ways  evaded  the  service  of 
the  Confederacy,  and  were  true  to  the  Union  of  their  faith. 
The  close  of  the  war  found  them  just  where  they  had  been  at 
Its  beginning.  They  had  neither  gone  backward  nor  for- 
ward. 

They  regarded  the  abolition  of  slavery  as  justifiable  solely 
upon  the  ground  of  the  master  having  personally  and  individ- 
ually engaged  in  rebellion,  —  a  punishment  for  his  treason. 
Upon  this  ground,  and  this  alone,  they  regarded  it  as  possible 
that  this  idea  should  be  sustained  ;  and  with  this  doctrine  they 
held,  as  an  unavoidable  corollary,  that  tJiey  were  entitled,  either 
to  be  excepted  from  its  operation,  or  to  be  compensated  for 
such  slaves  as  were  taken  from  them  by  the  Military  Procla- 
mation. 

"When  it  comes  to  the  application  of  logic,  and  the  princi- 
ples of  equity  on  which  all  such  questions  of  national  polity 
are  said  to  be  based,  it  is  difficult  to  perceive  what  is  the 
fallacy  in  the  reasoning  of  these  Southern  Unionists.  It  has 
always  been  claimed  that  slavery  was  abolished  as  a  military 
necessity,  and  not  because  of  its  inherent  wrong,  or  merely  as 
a  humanitarian  measure  to  benefit  the  enslaved.  Almost  any 
one  of  the  wise  men  who  made  the  laws,  and  regulated  the 
course  of  political  events  at  that  time,  would  have  affirmed 
this.  Yet,  if  this  were  true,  there  should  have  been  no  inter- 
ference with  the  slaves  of  the  Southern  Unionist,  or,  if  there 
were,  he  should  have  been  compensated  for  the  same  as  well 
as  for  his  cotton,  his  corn,  his  tobacco,  his  fences,  his  timber, 
and  cattle,  unwittingly  destroyed,  or  needfully  appropriated,  by 
the  national  forces.  This  was  not  done,  however.  The  wise 
men  decided  that  it  would  not  do  to  attempt  it. 

So  the  result  was,  that,  while  the  open  and  avowed  rebel  lost 
his  slave-property  by  the  events  of  the  war,  the  most  ardent 
and  devoted  Unionist  lost  his  also.  It  was  hard,  very  hard, 
when    a   man   had   given   the   best  years  of   his   life   to   the 


COCK-CROW.  129 

honest  acquisition  of  a  species  of  property  which  was  not 
only  protected,  but  seemed  to  have  been  peculiarly  favored 
and  encouraged,  by  our  laws ;  and  when,  the  life  of  the  nation 
being  in  peril,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  he  stood  by  her,  espoused 
her  cause  against  his  neighbors,  made  himself  an  outcast  in 
his  own  land,  —  it  was  hard  indeed,  when  the  struggle  was 
over,  to  see  that  nation  to  which  he  had  been  so  devotedly 
attached  reaching  out  its  hand,  and  stripping  him  of  the 
competence  thus  acquired,  and  leaving  him  to  suffer,  not  only 
the  pangs  of  poverty,  but  the  jeers  of  those  whose  treason  he 
had  opposed.  That  the  love  of  these  men  should  gradually 
grow  cold  for  the  country  which  measured  out  to  friend  and 
foe  alike  one  even  measure  of  punishment,  our  Fool  thought 
not  a  matter  to  be  wondered  at;  but  the  wise  men  of  the 
National  Capital  were  unable  to  believe  that  this  could  be. 
So  time  wore  on,  and  wise  men  and  fools  played  at  cross- 
purposes  ;  and  the  locks  of  Samson  grew  while  he  wrought  at 
the  mill. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

COCK-CROW. 

After  the  Fool's  speech  at  the  political  meeting,  and  the 
events  which  succeeded  it  became  generally  known,  he  was 
much  sought  after  by  what  were  known  as  Union  men  among 
the  people.  His  words  seemed  to  have  touched  a  deep  chord  in 
their  hearts,  not  so  much  from  what  he  had  said  perhaps,  as 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  dared  to  say  it.  They  came  to  him 
with  wonderings  and  warnings  upon  their  lips.  How  he  dared 
to  stand  up  and  maintain  ideas  at  variance  with  the  accepted 
creed  of  that  class  of  men  who  had  always  formulated  and 
controlled  public  opinion,  they  could  not  understand.  They 
hated  secession,  always  had  hated  it ;  they  had  voted  against 
it  in  1861 ;  some  had  been  outspoken  against  it  on  the  stump, 


130  A    FOOrS  ERRAND. 

in  the  street,  everywhere,  and  at  all  times  :  but  in  the  main 
the  opposition  had  been  a  silent  one.  The  terrible  suppressive 
power  which  slavery  had  exercised  over  liberty  of  thought  and 
speech  had  grown  into  a  habit  of  mind.  Men  who  for  gen- 
erations had  been  unable  to  express  their  thoughts  above  a 
whisper,  as  to  one  of  the  institutions  by  which  they  were 
surrounded,  became  cautious  to  the  verge  of  timidity.  Many 
a  time  did  our  Fool  listen  to  the  approval  of  men  who  would 
glance  cautiously  around  before  addressing  him,  and  then 
say  in  a  low,  hushed  tone,  — 

"  That  is  what  we  want.  I  tell  you  it  did  me  good  to  hear 
you;  but  you  must  look  out!  You  don't  know  these  people  as 
I  do.     It  don't  do  to  speak  out  here  as  you  do  at  the  Xorth." 

"But  why  not?"  he  would  query  impatiently.  "That  was 
my  honest  conviction  :  why  should  I  not  speak  it  out?  " 

"  Hush,  hush  I  "  his  interviewer  would  say  nervously.  "  Here, 
let's  step  aside  a  little  while,  and  chat." 

And  then,  perhaps,  they  would  pass  out  of  the  public  way, 
into  that  refuge  of  free  thought  at  the  South,  the  woods  (or 
"  the  bushes,"  as  the  scraggly  growth  is  more  generally  termed) ; 
and  he  would  listen  to  some  tale  of  heroic  endurance  by 
which  his  companion  had  evaded  conscription  in  the  time  of 
the  war,  or  avoided  prosecution  in  the  ante-war  era,  which 
elicited  his  w^onder  both  for  the  devotion  then  displaj'^ed  for 
principle,  and  the  caution  which  was  born  of  it. 

"  Why  do  you  not  speak  out  ?  "  he  would  ask. 

"  Oh,  it  won't  do !  I  could  not  live  here,  or  not  in  any 
peace  at  least,  if  I  did;  and  then  my  family  —  they  would  be 
cut  off  from  all  society :  nobody  would  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  them.  AVhy,  as  careful  as  I  have  been,  my  children  are 
insulted  every  now  and  then  as  'nigger-worshipers,'  and  — 
and  "  — 

"  And  what  ?  " 

"Well  —  'Yankee-lovers,'"  apologetically.  "You  see,  it's 
got  out  in  my  neighborhood  that  I  came  to  see  you  a  few  w^eeks 
ago." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Haven't  you  a  right  to  do  so  ?  Can't 
a,  man  speak  his  opinions,  and  act  his  preferences  ?  " 


COCK-CROW.  131 

«  You  will  find  out  that  this  old  pro-slavery,  aristocratic  ele- 
ment don't  allow  people  to  differ  from  them  peaceably  and 
quietly.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  be  mighty  careful  who  I  talked  to. 
You  don't  know  any  thing  about  what  trouble  you  may  get 
into  any  day." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not,"  the  Fool  would  reply.  "  I  don't  care  any 
thing  particular  about  the  matter.  I  am  no  j)olitician,  and 
don't  want  to  be  ;  but  I  am  going  to  say  just  what  I  think,  at 
all  proper  times  and  places,  when  the  spirit  moves  me  so 
to  do." 

"Of  coarse,  of  course,"  would  be  the  reply.  "You  know 
test;  but  you  ought  to  recollect  that  you  are  not  at  the  North, 
where  they  allow  every  man  to  have  his  own  opinions,  and 
rather  despise  him  if  he  don't  have  them,  as  I  take  it  they  do." 

So  the  two  men  would  separate,  each  wondering  at  the  other; 
the  Fool  amazed  that  one  could  endure  so  much  for  the  sake  of 
his  own  opinion,  think  so  well,  apprehend  so  clearly  the  state 
of  affairs,  and  yet  be  so  timid  about  declaring  his  convictions. 
He  could  not  call  it  cowardice  ;  for  many  of  these  men  had 
taken  their  lives  in  their  hands  to  shelter  men  on  their  way  to 
the  Union  lines.  Others,  in  the  ante-war  era,  had  circulated 
books  and  pamphlets  in  regard  to  slavery,  to  be  found  in  posses- 
sion of  wJiich  teas  a  capital  crime.  Others  had  helped  fugitive 
slaves  to  escape  to  freedom,  with  the  terrors  of  Judge  Lynch's 
rope  and  fagots  before  their  eyes.  Others  still,  upon  being 
conscripted  into  the  Confederate  ranks,  had  refused  to  bear 
arms,  even  when  put  into  the  front  rank  ai^  under  the  hottest 
fire  of  battle. 

They  could  look  at  danger  and  death  very  calmly;  but  they 
could  not  stand  fortli  openly,  and  face  the  glare  of  social  pro- 
scription.    The  Fool  could  not  understand  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Southern  Unionists  could  not  under- 
stand the  heedless  outspokenness  of  the  Northern  man.  To 
them  it  seemed  the  very  height  of  folly.  It  meant  proscription, 
broils,  mobs,  and  innumerable  risks  which  might  be  avoided  by 
a  prudent  silence. 

These  were  the  waruiucrs  of  his  friends,     lie  received  others 


132  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

shortly  aiterwards,  which  impressed  him  more.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  ride  into  Yerdenton  occasionally  on  business, 
and  when  he  did  so,  frequently  did  not  start  for  home  until 
after  sundown,  especially  if  the  nights  were  light;  a  ride  in 
the  Southern  summer  moonlight  being  an  ever-enjoyable  ro- 
mance to  an  appreciative  nature.  One  night  as  he  was  thus 
returning  to  Warrington,  the  low  western  moon  shining  full  in 
his  face,  he  was  startled,  as  he  passed  through  a  piece  of  wood- 
land road,  by  seeing  a  man  ride  out  from  under  a  low-growing 
oak  which  stood  close  by  the  roadside,  and  call  his  name. 
The  denseness  of  the  shadow  had  quite  hidden  both  horse 
and  rider,  and  the  Fool  was  within  a  few  steps  of  his  inter- 
locutor when  he  emerged  into  the  moonlight.  To  draw  rein, 
and  take  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to 
the  ex-soldier,  and  entirely  an  instinctive  act. 

"All  right,  Colonel,"  said  the  horseman  pleasantly.  "I  am 
glad  to  see  that  you  carry  that  useful  article,  and  are  handy 
about  getting  it  out ;  but  it  ?s  not  necessary  now.  You  know 
me,  I  reckon." 

"Dr.  Gates?"  said  the  Fooi  inquiringly,  as  he  peered  into 
the  shaded  face  of  the  horseman,  with  a  blush  of  shame  at 
having  drawn  his  weapon  upon  an  unknown  and  undemonstra- 
tive wayfarer.  "I  —  ah  —  you  startled  me,  Doctor,  coming 
from  under  the  tree  there ;  and  I  have  been  so  long  accustomed 
to  an  appeal  to  arms  in  case  of  surprise,  that  I  half  fancied 
I  had  a  fight  on  my  hands,"  he  continued  half  jocosely. 

"  No  excuses,  Colonel :  I  don't  blame  you,  and  am,  as  I  said, 
glad  to  see  it.  One  frequently  avoids  danger  by  being  pre- 
pared for  it.     I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  moment." 

"Well?" 

"  Come  under  the  tree  here,"  he  said,  glancing  up  and  down 
the  road.  "  There's  no  use  standing  out  there  in  the  moon- 
light." 

AVhen  they  were  in  the  shade,  the  doctor  said, — 

"  You  may  think  it  is  none  of  my  business,  and  so  it  is  not, 
in  fact;  but  I  have  just  thought  that  some  one  ought  to  tell 
you,  —  and  as  no  one  else  seems  to  have  done  so,  I  thought  I 


COCK-CROW.  133 

would  make  it  my  business  to  let  you  know,  —  that  you  are  act- 
ing very  imprudently." 

u  Ah ! " 

"  Yes :  I  have  noticed,  that,  when  you  are  in  town,  you  fre- 
quently leave  about  the  time  you  did  to-night.  Now,  you 
ought  to  know  that  your  speech,  and  indeed  what  you  have 
to  say  whenever  you  speak  at  all  in  regard  to  public  matters, 
is  very  distasteful  to  our  people,  especially  when  they  congre- 
gate in  the  town,  and  get  filled  up  and  warmed  up." 

"  So  you  think  a  man  can  not  be  allowed  to  have  his  own 
opinions,  but  must  have  them  countersigned  by  a  committee 
of  his  neighbors  before  he  makes  them  the  coin  of  current 
speech,"  said  the  Fool  somewhat  sternly. 

"  No :  I  didn't  come  here  to  quarrel  with  your  opinions,  nor 
even  with  your  time  and  manner  of  declaring  them,"  answered 
the  other.  "I  am  not  at  all  sure  that- you  are  not  right  in 
your  notions.  They  are  certainly  very  plausible,  and  to  your 
mind,  I  doubt  not,  are  quite  unanswerable.  However,  I  do 
think  that  you  might  learn  a  little  prudence  from  the  men 
you  associate  with.  I  saw  you  talking  with  David  Nelson  to- 
day. He  is  one  of  those  I  mean.  A  better  Union  man  never 
stood  between  soil  and  sunshine  ;  and  I'll  wager  something  he 
advised  you  to  be  cautious,  not  only  as  to  what  you  said,  but. 
v.hen  and  where  you  said  it." 

"  Of  course  he  did !  "  said  the  Fool,  laughing.  "  It  seems  as 
if  all  these  Union  men  were  afraid  to  say  their  souls  were 
their  own." 

''  If  they  had  not  been  cautious,  their  souls  would  have  been 
all  that  could  be  called  their  own,"  said  the  doctor  hotly.  "  / 
was  not  a  Union  man,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  half  ashamed  to 
say  it;  for  I  knew  and  felt  that  secession  and  the  Confederacy 
were  simply  folly.  But  the  truth  is,  I  had  not  the  nerve  :  I 
couldn't  stand  the  pressure.  But  I  practiced  here  among  these 
Union  people,  and  was  also  with  the  army  part  of  the  time.  I 
was  at  Fredericksburg  when  your  people  tried  to  take  it ;  and 
I  tell  you  now.  Colonel,  I  would  rather  have  come  with  your 
fellows  across  that  bare  plateau  to  the  foot  of  St.  Marye's  Hill 


134  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

than  have  faced  what  these  Union  people  here  did,  day  after 
day,  during  the  \\ hole  war.  I  saw  many  a  strange  thing;  but 
I  learned  to  hold  ni}-  tongue  from  very  admiration  of  their 
pluck." 

•'  No  doubt."  said  the  Fool ;  "  but  they  seem  to  have  been 
more  thoroughly  whipped  than  you  rebels  have  been.  I  can 
not  understand  why  they  should  not  speak  out,  and  show  their 
colors  openly,  now.  ^Vhy,  only  the  other  day,  I  was  invited 
to  a  Union  meeting;  and,  thinking  it  might  be  a  pleasant 
thing,  I  took  along  a  garrison  flag  which  I  happened  to  have, 
and  festooned  it  over  the  platform  above  where  the  speakers 
were  to  stand.  In  a  little  while  some  of  the  leading  men 
came  to  me,  and  asked  if  I  would  not  have  it  taken  down. 
They  were  glad  to  see  it,  and  all  that,  they  said;  but  they 
•^•ere  afraid  it  might  cause  trouble." 

"  You  did  not  take  it  down,  of  course,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  You  may  well  say  that !  I  would  have  died  before  it 
should  have  been  lowered  an  inch.  I  fought  for  a  right  to 
put  it  there,  and  would  fight  to  keep  it  there,"  said  the  Fool 
warmly. 

"There  is  not  a  doubt  about  that,  Colonel,"  rejoined  the 
other ;  "  and  yet  it  does  seem  to  me,  with  all  respect,  that  you 
were  foolish  to  put  it  there.  I  can  no  more  understand  you 
than  you  can  Imderstand  the  Union  people  about  you.  Did 
you  ever  think  that  the  Union  people  here  are  vastly  in  a 
minority,  and  that  the  rest  of  us  —  I  mean  the  mass  of  our 
people  —  regard  this  needless  flaunting  of  that  flag  in  our  faces 
as  an  insult  and  an  arrogance  on  your  part?  Even  your  wear- 
ing of  that  old  uniform  coat,  though  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
have  sacrificed  the  buttons,  is  regarded  as  a  taunt.  You  should 
remember  that  you  are  one  of  the  conquerors,  in  the  midst  of 
the  conquered." 

"But  I  have  no  hatred,  no  ill-will,  towards  any  one  who  wore 
the  gray,"  said  the  Fool  protestingly. 

"I  am  sure  of  that,  or  I  would  not  have  ridden  out  here  to 
do  you  a  good  turn  to-night,"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 


THE  DIE  IS   CAST.  135 

"I  suppose  not.  But  you  can  understand,  that,  if  I  felt  con- 
fident of  meeting  you  here  for  a  friendly  purpose,  one  who 
had  an  unfriendly  one  might  be  equally  sure  of  doing  so?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  might  be  waylaid?  " 

"I  mean  to  say,"  said  the  doctor  significantly,  "that,  if  I 
were  you,  I  would  not  make  a  habit  of  traveling  any  particular 
road  after  dark." 

"But"  — 

"  I  shall  answer  no  questions,  Colonel,  and  will  bid  you 
good-night."  He  turned  his  horse,  and  was  about  to  ride  off, 
when  he  drew  rein,  and  said,  — 

"You  need  have  no  fear  to-nir/ht,  and  I  suppose  I  need  not 
request  you  to  say  nothing  of  this  meeting.     Good-night." 

He  gave  his  horse  the  rein,  and  cantered  away  towards  the 
town  with  that  easy,  swaying  seat,  characteristic  of  the  lei- 
surely, well-to-do  Southern  man,  who  has  been  in  the  saddle 
almost  every  day  from  his  infancy,  who  rides,  not  so  much  for 
the  sake  of  riding  as  for  covering  the  ground  with  the  least 
inconvenience  to  himself  and  his  horse.  When  this  easy  lope 
had  carried  the  doctor  around  a  bend  of  the  wood,  and  only 
the  measured  thud  of  the  horse's  hoofs  came  back  to  his  ear, 
the  Fool  rode  out  from  imder  the  shadow  of  the  water-oak, 
and  made  his  way  thoughtfully  homeward.  If  he  scanned 
the  thickets  closely,  and  started  when  a  stray  cow  burst  with 
considerable  noise  through  the  half-lighted  under-growth,  he 
may  be  pardoned,  after  the  repeated  warnings  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

THE   DIE    IS    CAST. 

When-  the  time  for  the  election  of  delegates  to  a  Constitu- 
tional Convention  was  near  at  hand,  the  Union  men  of  the 
county  held  a  meeting  to  nominate  candidates.     The  colored 


136  A   FOOLS  ERRAND. 

people,  as  yet  unused  to  political  assemblages,  but  with  an  in- 
distinct impression  that  their  rights  and  interests  were  involved, 
attended  in  large  numbers.  The  Union  men  were  few,  and  not 
of  that  class  who  were  accustomed  to  the  lead  and  control  of 
such  meetings.  The  place  of  assembly  selected  was  an  old 
country  schoolhouse  some  two  miles  from  the  county-seat,  and 
situated  in  a  beautiful  grove.  The  Fool,  partly  from  curiosity, 
and  partly  to  give  such  aid  and  countenance  as  he  might  to  a 
movement  which  was  based  upon  a  recognition  and  support 
of  the  Federal  Union  as  contradistinguished  from  the  idea  of 
voluntary  secession  and  disintegriition,  attended  the  meeting, 
though  hardly  half-convinced  of  the  practicability  and  wisdom 
of  the  proposed  plan  of  reconstruction.  By  this  time  he  was 
well  known  in  the  county,  and,  quite  unconsciously  to  himself, 
regarded  as  a  leader  in  the  movement.  Accustomed  to  com- 
mand for  four  years,  and  previous  to  that  time  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  ready  and  hearty  co-operation  and  participation 
in  matters  of  public  interest  which  is  almost  the  birthright  of 
the  Xorthern  citizen,  he  was  vexed  and  troubled  at  the  retiring 
hesitancy  of  the  Union  men  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 
Why  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  men  should  come  together  for 
a  particular  purpose,  and  then  "  hem  and  haw,"  and  wait  for 
some  one  to  move  first,  he  could  not  understand.  When  he 
came  on  the  ground,  the  hour  for  which  the  meeting  had  been 
appointed  had  already  arrived.  The  colored  people  had  gath- 
ered in  a  dense  mass  on  one  side  of  the  platform,  waiting  in 
earnest  expectancy  to  take  whatever  part  might  be  allotted 
to  them  in  the  performance  of  the  new  and  untried  duties  of 
citizenship.  The  white  men  were  squatted  about  in  little 
groups,  conversing  in  low,  uneasy  tones,  and  glancing  suspi- 
ciously at  every  new-comer.  A  little  at  one  side  was  Colonel 
J-vzekiel  Vaughn,  with  a  few  cronies,  laughing  and  talking 
boisterously  about  the  different  men  who  were  taking  part  in 
the  movement.  This  seemed  to  have  a  wonderfully  depressing 
effect  upon  the  white  Unionists,  who  evidently  dreaded  his 
clamorous  ridicule,  and  feared  that  some  disturbance  might 
ensue,  should  they  attempt  to  proceed. 


THE  DIE  IS   CAST.  137 

"Well,"  said  the  Fool,  as  he  approached  a  group  of  a  dozen 
or  more,  seated  in  a  circle  under  a  giant  oak,  "  why  don't  you 

begin  ?  " 

"  Hist !  "  said  one  of  those  whom  he  addressed.  "  Don't  you 
see  those  fellows?"  at  the  same  time  nodding,  and  winking 
towards  Vaughn  and  his  crowd. 

"  See    them  V "   he   replied,    as    he    glanced   towards    them. 

"  Yes.     Why  ?  " 

"  They've  come  here  for  a  row,"  answered  the  other. 

»  Pshaw^ !  "  said  the  Fool.  ''  They  don't  want  any  row ;  but, 
if  they  do,  let  them  have  it." 

"  But  we  can't  do  any  thing  if  they  have  made  up  their 
minds  to  break  up  the  meeting,"  said  the  Unionist. 

"  Break  up  the  meeting !  Fudge  !  Are  we  not  enough  to 
take  care  of  that  squad  of  non-combatant  fire-eaters?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  But  then  —  they  would  make  a  heap  of  trouble," 
was  the  reply.  "  Don't  you  think  we  liad  better  put  it  off,  and 
have  a  private  understanding  with  our  people  that  they  shall 
come  here  on  a  certain  day,  and  be  sure  and  not  let  Colonel 
Vaughn  or  any  of  his  crowd  know  about  it  V  " 

"Xo,  I  don't!"  answered  the  Fool  promptly.  "If  we  are 
going  to  be  cowed  and  browbeaten  out  of  doing  our  duty  by  a 
crowd  of  men  who  never  did  any  thing  but  talk,  we  may  as 
well  give  up  and  go  home.  If  not,  let  us  stay  and  do  our 
duty  as  good  citizens." 

"  Why  don't  you  open  your  show,  Servosse  ?  "  asked  A^aughn, 
in  a  loud  and  taunting  voice,  as  he  approached  the  group.  "  I 
tell  you  we  are  getting  mighty  tired  of  waitin';  and  them 
niggers  is  just  bustin'  for  a  chance  to  begin  votin'." 

"  Hello,  Vaughn!"  said  the  Fool,  in  a  voice  equally  loud,  but 
.  more  jovial.     "  Are  you  here  ?     Then  we  will  begin  at  once. 
*  We  were  just  waiting  for  the  monkey  before  the  show  began; 
but,  if  you  are  on  hand,  we  are  all  ready." 

There  was  a  laugh,  and  Vaughn  retired  disconcerted.  But 
one  of  those  with  whom  the  Fool  had  been  conversing  drew 
him  aside,  and  said  with  great  seriousness,  — 

"  Now,  Colonel,  you  will  excuse  me ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  will 


138  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

get  yourself  into  trouble  if  you  talk  to  these  folks  in  that  way. 
You  see  they  are  not  used  to  it." 

"  Then  let  them  get  used  to  it,"  said  the  Fool  carelessly.  "  If 
Vaughn  did  not  want  a  sharp  retort,  he  should  not  have  made 
an  insolent  remark." 

"That's  so,  Colonel  ;  but  you  see  they  are  used  to  doin'  and 
sayin'  any  thing  they  choose  in  regard  to  people  who  happen  to 
differ  with  them.  Why,  I  remember  when  a  man  was  prose- 
cuted here  in  this  very  county  for  havin'  a  seditious  book  — 
one  about  slavery,  you  know — in  his  possession,  and  lendin' 
it  to  a  friend  ;  and  people  were  almost  afraid  to  speak  to  him, 
or  go  bail  for  him.  You  Northern  people  don't  know  any 
thing  about  what  we  call  public  opinion  here." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  know,  if  it  means  that  a  man  shall 
not  speak  his  opinion  freely,  and  throw  stones  when  another 
throws  them  at  him,"  said  the  Fool  determinedly. 

"  Yet,"  said  the  Union  man,  "it  is  folly  to  defy  and  provoke 
such  a  spirit  unnecessarily." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  my  friend,"  was  the  Fool's  answer. 
"  But,  if  one  has  principles  which  are  worth  supporting  or  fight- 
ing for,  they  ought  also  to  be  worth  standing  up  for  against 
ridicule  and  arrogance." 

"It  would  seem  so;  but  it  won't  do,  —  not  in  this  country, 
anyhow,"  said  the  Unionist  with  a  sigh. 

At  this  point  there  were  symptoms  of  excitement  among  the 
crowd;  and  a  faint,  straggling  cheer  broke  out,  as  Colonel 
llhenn  rode  up,  and  dismounted  from  his  horse,  which  he  tied 
to  an  overhanging  bough,  and  came  forward,  holding  his  well- 
worn  beaver  in  his  left  hand,  bowing,  and  shaking  hands  witli 
his  neighbors,  and  returning  with  slight  but  grave  conrt"sy 
the  boisterous  greeting  of  the  colored  people.  This  arrival 
at  once  seemed  to  give  confidence  to  those  who  had  before 
evidently  regarded  the  movement  as  a  disagreeable  if  not  a 
dangerous  duty.  Nathan  Rhenn  was  a  gentleman  of  a  type 
peculiarly  Southern,  and  exceedingly  rare.  He  was  of  an 
old  but  not  now  wealthy  family.  His  connections  were  good, 
but  not  hiq-h.     Before  the  war  he   had  been  in   comfortab'  3 


THE  DIE  IS   CAST.  lo9 

circumstances  only:  now  he  was  actually  puor.  Yet  at  no 
time  had  he  abated  one  jot  of  that  innate  gentility  which  had 
always  marked  his  deportment.  He  was  clad  now  in  "  butter- 
nut-gray "  homespun,  wore  black  woolen  gloves  on  his  hands, 
a  high  black  stock  on  his  neck,  with  a  high,  narrow-brimmed, 
and  rather  dingy  beaver  hat,  and  would  have  been  a  figure 
highly  provocative  of  mirth,  had  it  not  been  for  his  considerate, 
graceful,  and  self-respecting  courtesy.  Since  the  meeting  at 
which  he  presided,  when  the  Fool  made  his  maiden  speech 
upon  a  political  question,  Colonel  Rhenn  had  rarely  attended 
public  meetings,  and  was  known  as  one  whose  stalu^  (despite 
his  former  Unionism,  which  was  unquestioned)  was  very  doubt- 
ful. He  was  known  to  be  one  who  would  not  have  attended 
the  meeting  unless  he  intended  to  give  in  his  adhesion  to  the 
cause  which  it  had  assembled  to  promote.  He  was  considered, 
therefore,  an  accession  of  very  great  importance,  by  those  who 
were  present,  to  the  cause  of  Reconstruction.  Hardly  had  he 
greeted  his  many  friends,  when  some  one  arose  and  said,  — 
"I  nominate  Xathan  Rhenn  as  chairman  of  this  meeting." 
It  was  unanimously  concurred  in  ;  and  the  new  arrival,  with 
many  grave  bows  and  protestations,  permitted  himself  to  be 
led  to  the  platform.  Upon  taking  his  seat  as  chairman,  he 
made  a  brief  speech,  in  substance  as  follows :  — 

"Fellow-Citizens,  —  I  have  come  here  to-day  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  my  support  and  countenance  to  a  movement  in  support  of 
what  are  known  as  the  Reconstruction  Acts,  which  I  presume  to  be 
the  reason  that  you  have  honored  me  by,maldng  me  your  chairman. 
As  you  are  well  aware,  I  have  always  beeii  a  Uniou  man.  I  believe 
tliat  under  all  circumstances,  and  hy  all  persons  and  parties,  I  have 
been  accorded  that  distinction.  At  the  same  time,  I  have  never 
been,  or  been  considered,  an  abolitionist.  I  was  a  slaveholder,  and 
belonged  to  a  race  of  slaveholders,  and  never  felt  any  conscientious 
scruples  at  remaining  such.  I  did  not  pass  upon  slavery,  it  is  true, 
as  a  new  or  an  abstract  question,  but  considered  it  as  I  found  it, 
solely  in  relation  to  myself.  I  did  not  buy  nor  sell,  except  when  I 
bought  a  woman  that  she  might  not  be  sold  away  from  her  hus- 
band, and  sold  one  man,  at  his  own  request,  that  he  might  go  with 
his  wife.     The  act  of  buying  and  selling  human  beings,  I  admit. 


140  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

was  repulsive  to  me  ;  but  I  accepted  the  institution  as  I  fonnd 
it,  and  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  attempt  its  overthrow.  In 
the  attempt  which  was  made  to  disrupt  the  government,  this  in- 
stitution has  been  destroyed  ;  and  it  is  the  question  in  regard  to 
the  future  political  relations  of  those  who  were,  as  it  were,  hut 
yesterday  slaves,  which  produces  the  present  differences  of  opin- 
ion among  our  people,  and  promises  future  conflict.  If  it  were 
the  simple  question  whether  we  should  now  be  restored  to  the 
American  Union,  and  take  our  place  as  one  of  the  co-ordinate  States, 
which  we  had  to  decide,  there  would  be  no  difference  of  opinion. 
Only  an  insignificant  minority  of  our  people  would  oppose  such  res- 
toration upon  any  terms  which  did  not  embrace  the  conferring  of 
political  power  upon  the  freed  people.  Many  think  this  an  unwise 
and  impracticable  measure  :  others  believe  it  to  be  imposed  upon  us 
by  the  conquerors,  simply  as  an  act  of  wanton  and  gross  insult,  for 
the  purpose  of  adding  to  the  degradation  of  an  already  humiliated 
foe.  The  fact,  also,  that  every  one  who  had  been  an  officer  of  the  old 
government,  and  then  served  the  Confederacy  in  any  voluntary  ca- 
pacity, is  barred  from  the  right  of  suffrage,  while  his  recent  slave  is 
given  the  power  to  vote,  occasions  much  ill  feeling.  "SVhile  I  deem 
the  exclusion  wise  and  necessary,  though  it  must  strike  some  who 
are  undeserving,  I  confess  that  I  have  had  my  fears  in  regard  to  the 
latter  measure.  After  mature  and  earnest  reflection,  however,  I 
have  become  satisfied,  that,  at  the  least,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is 
to  accept  what  is  offered,  show  our  willingness  to  submit  to  what- 
ever may  be  deemed  wise  and  proper,  and  trust  that  the  future  may 
establish  the  right.  Therefore  I  have  come  here  to-day  to  co-operate 
with  you.    And  now,  gentlemen,  what  is  your  jDleasure  ?  " 

For  once  there  was  a  scarcity  of  candidates.  No  one  seemed 
to  desire  a  position  which  promised  to  be  onerous,  without 
honor,  and  of  little  profit ;  which  it  was  felt  would  cast  odium 
upon  the  individual,  and  social  and  religious  ostracism  upon 
his  family.  The  names  of  the  chairman  and  another  were 
submitted;  but  the  chairman  stated  that,  having  been  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Legislature  before  the  war,  and  a  justice  of  the 
peace  during  the  Confederacy,  he  believed  himself  disqualified. 
Then  the  Fool's  name  was  substituted  for  that  of  the  chair- 
man, and  the  nomination  was  made. 

According  to  custom,  the  candidates  were  called  upon  to 
make  speeches   in   acceptance;   and  the  Fool  in  so  doing  ac- 


THE  DIE  IS   CAST.  141 

knowledged    himself    quite  unprepared   to   state  the   line  of 
conduct    he   should   propose    in    the    convention,    beyond   the 
acceptance   of    the   conditions   prescribed   in   the    Acts   under 
which  the  election  would  be  held,  but  promised  to  set  it  forth 
in  a  printed  circular,  that  all  might  read  and  understand  his 
position.     The  next  week  this   document  came  out.     It  does 
not  seem  half  so  revolutionary  as  it  really  was.     It  read,  — 
"  I  shall,  if  elected,  favor :  — 
"1.  Equal  civil  and  political  rights  to  all  men. 
"  2.  The  abolition  of  property  qualifications  for  voters,  ofll- 
cers,  and  jurors. 

"3.  Election  by  the  people  of  all  officers  —  legislative,  ex- 
ecutive, and  judicial— in  the  state,  the  counties,  the  muni- 
cipalities. 

"4.  Penal  reform:  the  abolition  of  the  whipping-post,  the 
stocks,  and  the  branding-iron;  and  the  reduction  of  capital 
felonies  from  seventeen  to  one,  or  at  most  two. 

"  5.  Uniform  and  ad  valorem  taxation  upon  property,  and  a 
limitation  of  capitation  tax  to  not  more  than  three  days'  labor 
upon  the  public  roads  in  each  year,  or  an  equivalent  thereof. 
«6.  An  effective  system  of  public  schools." 
The  Fool  had  no  idea  that  he  was  committing  an  enormity ; 
but  from  that  day  he  became  an  outlaw  in  the  land  where  he 
hoped  to  have  made  a  home,  and  which  he  desired  faithfully 

to  serve. 

There  was  a  short,  sharp  canvass,  a  quiet  election,  and  one 
day  there  came  to  the  Fool's  address  an  official  document 
bearing  the  imprint  of  the  "Headquarters  of  the  Military 
District"  in  which  he  lived,  certifying  that  "  Comfort  Servosse 
had  been  duly  elected  a  delegate  to  the  Constitutional  Con- 
vention to  be  held  pursuant  to  the  acts  of  Congress."  With 
him  went  as  members  of  that  body  some  old  friends  whom 
we  have  met  in  these  pages ;  among  them  John  Walters,  who 
was  the  delegate-elect  from  his  county. 


142  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
"wisdom  crieth  in  the  streets." 

Immediately  after  the  fact  of  his  election  became  known, 
the  Wise  Men  who  had  framed  those  laws  under  which  the 
greatest  political  experiment  of  modern  civilization  was  to  be 
made,  began  to  write  letters  to  the  Fool,  all  filled  with  kind 
and  paternal  advice  as  to  what  the  body  of  which  he  had  just 
been  elected  a  member  ought  to  do,  and  when  and  how  it 
should  all  be  done,  as  well  as  a  thousand  cautions  and  warn- 
ings as  to  what  ought  not  to  be  done.  The  wisdom  of  these 
men  was  most  wonderful,  in  that  it  not  only  served  for  their 
own  purposes,  but  actually  overflowed  in  superabundant  ad- 
vice to  the  rest  of  mankind.  It  is  true  that  they  knew  less 
than  nothing  of  the  thoughts,  feelings,  situations,  and  sur- 
roundings of  those  people  for  whose  moral  and  political  ills 
they  were  prescribing  remedies,  because  the  facts  which  they 
had  apprehended  were  so  colored  and  modified  by  others 
which  they  could  not  comprehend,  that  their  conclusions  were 
more  likely  to  be  wrong  than  right.  But  they  were  not 
troubled  by  any  reflection  of  this  kind,  because  thej'-  were 
quite  unconscious  that  any  thing  could  exist  without  their 
knowledge,  and  never  dreamed  that  careful  investigation,  stud}-, 
and  time  were  necessary  to  restore  a  nation  which  had  just  out- 
lived the  fever  fire  of  civil  war;  and  certainly  they  were  not 
responsible  for  not  knowing  that  which  they  did  not  dream 
had  any  existence. 

One  of  these  letters  lies  before  me  now.  It  bears  the  auto- 
pruph  of  one  of  th<;  wisest  of  the  \\'ise  Men.  It  is  a  very  great 
name,  —  a  name  that  is  found  in  the  statesman's  annals,  and 
appears  on  the  roll  of  the  I.  nited- States  Senate,  year  after  year, 
for  a  period  longer  than  most  men's  public  lives  are  privileged 
to  reach.     He  was  a  man  of  wonderful  foresiirht  and  unerring 


WISDOM   CRIETII   IN   THE   STREETS.       143 

judgment,  so  it  was  said.  lie  knew  his  State  from  center  to 
circumference,  and  never  missed  the  temper  of  its  people.  It 
was  said  that  he  was  never  an  hour  too  late,  nor  a  day  too 
early,  in  proclaiming  his  opinions  upon  any  political  question. 
Through  a  certain  range  of  thought  his  convictions  rose  and  fell 
with  the  flood  of  popular  sentiment;  and,  could  the  wavering 
lines  described  by  the  sphygmograph  which  the  physician  some- 
times laid  upon  his  wrist,  have  been  translated  into  articulate 
words,  they  would  have  told  the  precise  story  of  public  senti- 
ment in  her  domains  ever  since  he  engaged  in  the  service  of 

the  Commonwealth  of .     This  sentiment  was  the  divming- 

rod  by  which  he  traced  his  political  footsteps ;  and  so  he  wrote 
the  following  persuasive  letter  to  the  Fool :  — 

Senate  Chamber,  Washington,  D.C, 
Dec.  16,  1867. 

My  dear  Colonel,  —  I  was  very  much  gratified  to  know  that 
you  are  one  of  the  delegates  selected  to  represent  your  couuty  in  the 
Constitutional  Convention  of  your  State.  Your  record  as  a  Union 
soldier,  and  well-known  and  acknowledged  ability,  lead  us  to  expect 
very  much  of  you.  And  by  "  us  "  I  do  not  mean  the  members  of 
Congress  and  senators  merely,  but  the  party  of  the  Union  throughout 
the  country.  We  are  well  aware  that  you  did  not  in  all  resj)ects 
approve  the  plan  of  Reconstruction  which  was  finallj^  adopted; 
neither  did  I:  and  yet,  perhaps,  we  could  have  done  no  better.  You 
see  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  do  something.  Three  years  have 
almost  elapsed  since  the  war  was  over,  and  nothing  has  been  done 
to  establish  any  permanent  system  of  restoration  or  plan  of  govern- 
ment for  that  part  of  the  national  domain.  The  usurpative  acts  of 
the  President  have  done  much  to  complicate  the  situation.  He  has 
gone  over  to  the  enemy,  —  or,  rather,  they  have  rallied  to  his 
suppoi't,  —  and  will  no  doubt  have,  in  the  coming  presidential  con- 
test, not  only  the  vast  patronage  which  he  controls  tin-own  in  their 
favor,  but  also  the  hearty  support  of  those  dissatisfied  of  our  party 
who  tliiuk  that  every  thing  shouUl  have  been  done  and  settled,  and 
the  South  restored  to  her  Federal  relations,  long  before  this  time. 
This  will  make  the  contest  a  very  close  and  doubtful  one,  unless  we 
can  do  two  things:  — 

1.  We  must  be  able  to  point  to  an  accomplished  restoration, — 
the  South  reconstructed,  represented,  or  ready  for  representation, 
under  the  congressional  plan. 


144  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

2.  TVe  must  have  the  support  of  these  States  in  the  presidential 
contest  next  fall, 

3.  In  order  to  secure  the  adoption  of  the  new  Constitutional 
Amendments  beyond  question,  we  must  have  the  votes  of  these 
States.  If  this  is  not  secured,  it  is  more  than  doubtful  whether  the 
courts  will  recognize  those  acts. 

The  President  will  undoubtedly  do  all  in  his  power  to  delay,  hin- 
der, and  frustrate  these  ends.  Your  convention  will  probably  be 
put  off  as  long  as  possible,  and  ever}^  effort  made  to  delay  its  pvo- 
ceedings.  It  is  of  prime  importance,  therefore,  that  its  action,  when 
bnce  assembled,  should  not  be  unnecessarily  protracted  a  single 
instant.  We  are  looking  confidently  to  you  to  promote  these  ends. 
It  is  the  oiDinion  of  our  best  men  here,  that  all  your  convention 
should  attempt*  to  do  is  to  adopt  the  former  Constitution  of  the 
State,  with  a  provision  inserted  against  slavery,  and  another  de- 
nouncing secession,  prohibit  the  payment  of  Confederate  debts,  pro- 
vide for  impartial  suffrage,  and  adjourn.  This  can  be  done  in  a 
week  or  ten  days,  at  the  farthest,  and  the  proceedings  forwarded 
here  so  as  to  prevent  delay.  If  this  is  done,  the  Southern  States  can 
all  be  counted  on  in  the  presidential  election;  and,  under  a  favorable 
administration,  whatever  further  changes  are  necessary  can  be  easily 
effected. 

Unless  we  can  secure  the  votes  of  these  States,  the  election  of 
a  President  by  our  party  and  the  adoption  of  the  Constitutional 
Amendments  are  very  doubtful,  perhaps  impossible.  Upon  the 
accession  of  a  President  from  the  opposition  party,  with  a  majority 
in  the  House  of  Representatives,  the  representatives  from  these 
States  under  the  Johnsonian  plan  would  no  doubt  be  admitted;  and 
the  colored  people  and  white  Unionists  of  the  South  would  have  no 
protection,  and  the  nation  no  guaranties  against  future  rebellion. 

A and  B and  C of  your  State,  who  have  written  to 

me,  quite  -concur  in  these  views.  TVe  confidently  expect  your  ap- 
proval and  co-operation.  Dispatch  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  Let 
there  be  no  delay.  I  would  like  to  hear  from  you  immediately. 
Copies  of  such  amendments  as  are  deemed  necessarj"  to  be  made 
will  be  forwarded  to  some  delegate  before  the  convention  meets, 
and  I  earnestly  recommend  that  nothing  further  be  attempted  to  be 
done. 

With  the  highest  respect,  my  dear  Colonel, 

I  remain  your  obedient  servant, 

Col.  Comfort  Servosse,  Warrington. 

We  omit  the  great  name  which  appears  in  scraggly  charac- 


WISDOM  CRIETH  IN   THE   STREETS.       145 

ters  on  the  now  yellow  and  dingy  scroll.  How  swiftly  the 
tooth  of  Time  gnaws  away  the  inscriptions  of  fame !  Only  a 
decade  has  passed,  and  the  restless  brain  and  heart  of  vanlting 
ambition  which  dictated  these  lines,  no  doubt  hoping  thereby 
to  smooth  somewhat  his  pathway  to  the  highest  place  in  the 
nation,  overwhelmed  with  the  chagrin  of  repeated  disappoint- 
ment, has  nioldered  into  dust,  and  almost  passed  into  forget- 
fulness. 

The  Fool  answered  this  and  'other  letters  of  like  character 
with  that  lack  of  reverence  for  great  names  which  the  active 
participant  in  great  events  unconsciously  acquires.  Ten  years 
before,  he  would  have  accepted  this  wise  man's  views  upon  any 
question  of  governmental  policy,  with  the  same  undoubting 
faith  that  the  humblest  believer  gives  to  the  written  and  re- 
vealed Word.  He  would  neither  have  questioned  his  position, 
doubted  his  motives,  nor  suspected  his  statesmanship.  Now, 
alas !  since  his  unfortunate  acces  de  la  folie,  he  had  seen  so 
many  great  reputations  wither  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  in 
the  ireer  and  grander  struggle  of  public  opinion,  and  on  the 
field  of  battle,  — he  had  so  often  seen  the  much-vaunted  Old 
give  way  to  the  bolder  and  stronger  New,  that  he  had  lost  that 
due  veneration  and  regard  for  age  and  rank  which  mark  the 
thoroughly  sound  and  well-ordered  mind.  Experience  of  the 
fallibility  of  the  few  very  wise  men  whom  he  had  met  had  no 
doubt  tended  to  increase  the  effects  of  his  infirmity,  and  con- 
firm an  unfortunate  delusion  which  he  had,  that  even  wise  men 
are  capable  of  error. 

Just  about  this  time,  too,  there  occurred  a  most  unfortunate 
circumstance,  which  had  the  melancholy  effect  to  confirm  this 
delusion.  One  of  the  wisest  of  these  very  wise  men  had  long 
been  impressed  with  a  belief  that  a  new  revelation  of  the  Gos- 
pel of  Peace,  especially  adapted  to  that  time  and  occasion,  had 
been  made  to  him  alone,  and  that  it  needed  but  the  inspiration 
of  his  presence,  the  d?pp  sinc-rity  of  IJs  sonorous  sub-vocals, 
and  the  power  of  his  imperious  but  most  kindly  countenance,  to 
bring  the  most  obdurate  of  the  recent  rebels  back  to  subser- 
vient complacency.     Now,  unfortunately,  instead  of  leaving  this 


146  A    FOOUS  ERRAND. 

beautiful  theory  to  remain  unmarred  by  the  rude  test  of  prac- 
tice, as  most  wise  men  do  Avith  their  finest  theories,  he  insisted 
on  submitting  it  to  that  coarse  ordeal.  Accordingly,  after 
being  duly  heralded  by  the  newspapers  of  the  country,  he 
tremblingly  took  his  life  in  his  hand,  and,  with  a  body-guard 
of  reporters  and  stenographers,  made  a  raid  into  this  border- 
land of  civilization  to  proclaim  political  light  and*life.  Some- 
thing in  his  speech  there  was  which  failed  to  please;  and  first 
angry  w^ords,  and  then  the  angrier  bark  of  Derringer  and  re- 
volved, followed.  The  crowd  scattered,  the  body-guard  disap- 
peared ;  and  that  most  amiable  of  controversies,  a  genteel  South- 
ern fight,  took  place  under  the  eye  of  the  "Wise  Man,  or,  rather, 
under  his  ear,  as  he  crouched  behind  the  desk  from  which  he 
had  a  moment  before  been  expounding  ''the  law  of  love  as  co- 
equal and  co-ordinate  with  the  love  of  law ;  these  being  mutu- 
ally interdependent  upon  and  generative  of  the  other."  The 
Fool  had  chuckled  again  and  again  at  this  Wise  Man's  discom- 
fiture, and  was  never  tired  of  adducing  it  as  an  instance  of  the 
failure  of  wisdom  at  long-range  when  pitted  against  sense  at 
short-taw.  So,  in  response  to  the  letter  which  has  been  given, 
he  very  foolishly  wrote  thus  :  — 

Warrington,  Dec.  20, 1867. 

To  THE  Honorable ,  Senator. 

Sir,— Yo^xx  letter  of  the  loth,  advising  me  as  to  my  duties  as  a 
delegate  to  the  Constitutional  Convention  to  be  held  at  the  call  of 
the  general  commanding  this  military  district,  was  duly  received, 
and  has  been  given  the  consideration  which  it  merits  by  the  per- 
sonal eminence  and  official  station  of  the  writer.  It  is  with  regret 
that  I  find  myself  compelled  to  differ  from  one  occupying  your 
exalted  station,  both  a^  a  statesman,  a  patriot,  and  a  Republican 
leader,  upon  a  matter  ;vhich  you  deem  so  vital  in  many  resjiects.  I 
can  not  say  I  regard  tlie  convention  as  less  important  than  you 
do,  but  rather  as  even  more  so,  though  in  quite  a  different  sense. 
From  a  purely  partisan  stand-point,  I  should  be  inclined  to  conrur 
with  j-our  view,  if  I  could  believe  present  success  to  be  the  hit^hest 
policy;  but  when  we  come  to  regard  the  ultimate  intere.st,  not  only 
of  this  State  and  this  people,  but  also  of  the  entire  covmtry,  it  seems 
to  me  indubitable  that  it  is  of  much  more  importance  that  the  work 


WISDOM  CRIETH  IN  THE  STREETS.       14/ 

of  the  reconstruction  of  State  governments  in  the  recently  rebel- 
lions  territory  should  be  lodl  done,  than  that  it  should  be  i^peedxly 
done  You  will  also  allow  me  to  say  that  it  seems  to  me  that  one 
who  has  been  on  the  ground,  and  has  studied  the  tone  and  temper  of 
the  people  from  the  very  hour  of  the  surrender,  has  had  a  much 
better  opportunity  to  decide  upon  what  is  necessary  to  be  done  than 
one  who  has  had  none  of  those  opportunities,  and  who  seems  to  have 
regarded  the  question  of  restoring  the  statal  relations  as  a  move  in 
a  political  game.  As  you  say,  I  was  opposed  to  this  plan  of  Recon- 
struction. I  regarded  it  then,  as  I  still  do,  as  eninently  hazardous 
in  its  character,  very  imperfect  in  its  provisions,  anl  lacking  all  the 
elements  of  cautious,  deliberate,  and  far-seeing  statesmanship.  My 
objections  to  it  were  based  upon  the  following  considerations:  — 

1.  The  true  object  and  purpose  of  Reconstruction  should  be  (1) 
to  secure  the  nation  in  the  future  from  the  perils  of  civil  war, 
especially  a  war  based  upon  the  same  underlying  principles  and 
causes  as  the  one  just  concluded;  (2)  to  secure  a  development 
homogeneous  with  that  of  the  North,  so  as  to  render  the  country 
what  it  has  never  been  heretofore,  -  a  nation.  As  an  essential  ele- 
ment of  this,  the  bestowal- of  equal  civil  and  political  rights  upon 
all  men,  without  regard  to  previous  rank  or  station,  becomes  imper- 
ative. It  seems  to  me  the  Reconstruction  Acts  have  made  this 
postulate  of  greater  iaiportance  than  the  result  to  which  it  is  aux- 
iliary. ,     ,        ^ 

2  I  do  not  think  the  passions  evoked  by  that  struggle,  based  as 
it  was  upon  a  radical  difference  of  development,  and  the  ill-concealed 
hostility  of  many  generations,  can  by  any  means  be  put  out  of  sight 
in  such  a  movement.  I  do  not  believe  that  those  who  have  looked 
into  each  other's  faces  by  the  lurid  light  of  battle  are  the  fittest 
persons  to  devise  and  execute  such  rehabilitation,  nor  do  I  believe 
that  a  lately  subject^race  is  likely  to  prove  an  emollient  or  a  neutral- 
izing element  in  this  peaceful  adjustment. 

3.  From  a  party  stand-point,  you  will  allow  me  to  say  that  I  do 
not  think  that  a  party  composed  of  the  elements  which  must  con- 
stitute the  bulk  of  our  party  in  the  South  under  the  present  plan  of 
Reconstruction  can  ever  be  permanently  successful.  At  least  two- 
thirds  of  it  must  not  only  be  poor  and  ignorant,  but  also  inexperi- 
enced and  despised.  They  are  just  freed  from  servitude;  and  the 
badge  of  that  servitude,  the  leprosy  of  slavery,  still  clings  to  them. 
Politically  they  are  unclean;  and  the  contamination  of  their  asso- 
ciation will  drive  away  from  us  the  bulk  of  the  brain,  character,  and 
experience  which  has  hitherto  ruled  these  States,  and  through  them 
the  nation.     Not  only  this,  but  thousands  of  those  who  went  with 


148  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

us  in  the  late  election  will  fall  away  when  they  find  themselves  and 
their  families  focused  in  the  eye  of  puhlic  scorn  and  ridicule.  You 
wise  men  who  concocted  these  measures  do  not  seem  to  have  com- 
prehended the  fact  that  the  brain  and  heart  of  the  South  —  the 
pulpit,  the  bar,  and  the  planters;  a  vast  proportion  of  its  best  men, 
and  almost  every  one  of  its  women  —  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  late 
Confederacy  with  all  the  self-abandonment  and  devotion  of  a  people 
who  fought  for  what  they  believed  to  be  right.  You  do  not  realize 
that  this  feeling  was  intensified  a  thousand-fold  by  a  prolonged  and 
desperate  struggle,  and  final  defeat.  You  do  not  seem  to  appreciate 
the  fact,  which  all  history  teaches,  that  there  is  no  feeling  in  the 
human  breast  more  blind  and  desperate  in  its  manifestations,  or  so 
intense  and  ineradicable  in  its  nature,  as  the  bitter  scorn  of  a  long 
dominant  race  for  one  they  have  held  in  bondage.  You  deem  this 
feeling  insensate  hate.  You  could  not  make  a  greater  mistake. 
Hate  is  a  sentiment  mild  and  trivial  in  comparison  with  it.  This 
embraces  no  element  of  individual  or  personal  dislike,  but  is  simply 
utter  and  thorough  disgust  and  scorn  for  the  race,  —  except  in  what 
they  consider  its  proper  place, — a  feeling  more  fatal  to  any  thing 
like  democratic  recognition  of  their  rights  as  citizens  than  the  most 
undying  hate  could  be.  A  partj^  builded  upon  ignorance,  inexperi- 
ence, and  poverty,  and  mainly  composed  of  a  race  of  pariahs,  who 
are  marked  and  distinguished  by  their  color,  can  not  stand  against 
intelligence,  wealth,  the  pride  of  a  conquered  nation,  and  a  race- 
prejudice  whose  intensity  laughs  to  shame  the  exclusive  haughti- 
ness of  the  Brahmins. 

I  know  your  answer  to  these  A^iews :  I  have  heard  it  a  thousand 
times.  But  it  is  builded  upon  the  sand.  The  very  idea  is  an  out- 
growth of  what  we  call  our  Northern  development,  antl  sometimes 
arrogantly  st^'le  "  American  civilization."  It  is  not  true  even  of 
that,  however,  and  would  not  be  true  of  the  North,  ceteris  paribus. 
You  say  that  the  interest  of  the  Southern  leading  classes  will  compel 
them  to  accept  and  carry  out  in  good  faith  your  reconstructionary 
idea.  You  can  not  find  in  all  history  an  instance  in  which  the  collec- 
tive advantage  of  a  people  has  ever  yet  counterbalanced  their  preju- 
dices, until  at  least  one  generation  had  grown  up  under  the  new 
phase  which  conquest  had  imposed  on  their  afifairs.  It  is  useless  to 
attempt  to  cite  examples,  for  there  is  not  o?ie  exception  in  all  history. 
Individuals  may  come  over,  either  from  conviction  of  the  general 
good,  or  for  personal  advantage,  or  from  both  these  motives;  but 
races,  nations,  and  classes  must  be  born  again,  must  see  another  gen- 
eration, before  that  result  is  ever  obtained.  Mark  the  dispersion  of 
the  Tories  of  our  Revolution  as  an  instance,  and  think  how  few  of 


WISDOM  CniETII  IN  THE  STREETS.       149 

those  who  remained  ever  ceased  to  execrate  the  nation  of  which  they 
were  unwilliuf^ly  components. 

But,  yon  say,  it  is  needless  to  consider  these  questions  now;  and 
that  I  admit,  except  as  it  becomes  necessary  to  explain  my  position. 
After  mature  deliberation,  I  concluded  that  I  could  not  put  myself 
in  opposition  to  those  measures  when  submitted  to  the  vote  of  the 
people  here,  because  the  only  opposition  there  was,  was  based  solely 
upon  hostility  to  the  government  for  which  I  had  fought.  It  was 
the  spirit  of  the  Rebellion  revived.  I  could  not  ally  myself  with 
this.  I  was  forced  to  take  these  measures,  and  aid  in  the  attempt  to 
make  them  subserve  the  purpose  of  rehabilitation  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble. This  accounts  for  my  opposition  to  your  view.  The  Rebellion 
was  not  the  mere  incident  of  an  accident:  it  was  the  culmination 
of  a  long  smoldering  antagonism,  —  a  divergence  of  thought  and 
sentiment  which  was  radical  and  irreconcilable:  it  was  a  conflict 
between  two  divergent  civilizations,  and  those  civilizations  had  left 
their  marks  upon  the  laws  of  each  section. 

The  constitutions  of  the  North  had  fostered  indi\adual  independ- 
ence, equal  rights  and  power,  and  general  intelligence  among  the 
masses.  The  township  system  had  been  the  cause  and  consequence 
of  this.  Almost  all  offices  were  elective,  and,  except  in  rare  in- 
stances, all  men  were  electors.  It  developed  democratic  ideas  and 
sentiments,  and  was  a  nursery  of  democratic  freedom. 

In  the  South  the  reverse  was  true.  The  ballot  and  the  jury-box 
were  jealously  guarded  from  the  intrusion  of  the  poor.  Wealth  was 
a  prerequisite  of  official  eligibility.  It  was  a  republic  in  name,  but 
an  oligarchy  in  fact.  Its  laws  were  framed  and  construed  to  this 
end.  The  land-holdings  were  enormous,  and  the  bulk  of  those  who 
cultivated  the  soil  were  not  freeholders,  but  either  slaves  or 
renters. 

To  my  mind,  the  first  great  prerequisite  of  successful  Reconstruc- 
tion is  to  break  down  the  legal  barriers  to  a  homogeneous  develoiv 
ment  of  the  country;  to  so  organize  the  new  State  governments 
that  they  will  tend  to  encourage  individual  action,  freedom  of  opin- 
ion, diA'ersity  of  industry,  and  general  education.  The  task  before 
the  coming  convention  is  herculean,  even  if  it  is  not  impossible  to 
accomplish.  I  have  pledged  myself  to  those  who  elected  me,  to 
attempt  what  I  can  in  this  direction,  and  shall  redeem  the  pledge 
to  the  letter.  I  inclose  you  a  copy  of  the  Circular  issued  to  our 
electors. 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  say  that  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
interest  or  success  of  the  Republican  party  demands  or  would  be 
promoted  by  the  course  you  suggest.    If  it  does,  I  am  sure  that  the 


150  A    FOOVS  ERRAND. 

ultimate  interest  of  the  country  does  not;  and  as  I  was  a  citizen 
before  I  was  a  Republican,  and  as  I  fou;xbt  for  the  country  and  not 
for  the  party,  you  miist  excuse  me  if  I  follow  my  convictions  rather 
than  your  counsel.    I  am,  very  respectfully, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

COMFOBT  SEBVOSSE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  grumbler's  forecast. 

The  transition  period  was  over,  so  it  was  said.  The  conven- 
tions had  met  in  the  various  States,  and  in  a  marvelously  short 
time  had  submitted  constitutions  which  had  been  ratified  by- 
vote  of  the  people.  Officers  had  been  chosen  under  them,  they 
had  been  approved  by  the  Congress  of  the  nation  as  required 
by  law,  Legislatures  had  met,  senators  and  representatives  in 
Congress  been  chosen,  the  presidential  election  had  taken 
place,  and  the  Republican  party  had  achieved  an  overwhelming 
success.  It  was  all  over,  —  the  war,  reconstruction,  the  consid- 
eration of  the  old  questions.  Now  all  was  peace  and  harmony. 
The  South  must  take  care  of  itself  now.  The  nation  had  done 
its  part :  it  had  freed  the  slaves,  given  them  the  ballot,  opened 
the  courts  to  them,  and  put  them  in  the  way  of  self-protection 
and  self-assertion.  The  "  root-hog-or-die  "  policy  of  the  great 
apostle  of  the  instantaneous  transformation  era  became  gener- 
ally prevalent.  The  nation  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  For 
three-quarters  of  a  century  the  South  had  been  the  "  Old  Man 
of  the  Sea "  to  the  young  Republic  :  by  a  simple  trick  of 
political  legerdemain  he  was  now  got  rid  of  for  ever.  No  won- 
der the  Republic  breathed  freely!  Yankee-laud  could  now 
bend  its  undivided  energies  to  its  industries  and  commerce. 
The  South  would  take  care  of  itself,  manage  its  own  affairs, 
look  after  its  own  interests.  The  nation  was  safe.  It  had  put 
down  rebellion,  disbanded  its  armies,  patched  up  its  torn  map. 
The  Republican  party  had  accomplished  a  great  mission.     It 


A    GRUMBLER'S  FORECAST.  151 

had  promised  to  put  down  rebellion,  and  had  done  so.  It  had 
guaranteed  freedom  to  the  slave,  and  had  redeemed  its  prom- 
ise. There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  until,  in  the  fullness 
of  time,  new  issues  should  arise,  based  on  new  thoughts,  new 
ideas,  and  new  interests. 

Tliis  is  what  the  wise  men  said.  But  the  Fool  looked  on 
with  anxious  forebodings,  and  wrote  to  his  old  tutor  gloomily 
of  the  future  that  seemed  so  bright  to  others :  — 

Warrington,  Dec.  10,  1863. 
To  Dr.  E.  Maktix. 

Mij  dear  old  Friend,  —  Your  kind  and  welcome  letter,  so  full  of 
congratulations  and  bright  anticipations,  was  duly  received,  and  for 
it  I  render  thanks.  Must  I  confess  it,  however  ?  it  impresses  me  with 
a  feeling  of  sadness.  The  state  of  affairs  which  you  picture  does 
not  exist  at  the  South;  and  the  bright  anticipations  which  you  base 
upon  mistaken  premises  have,  in  my  opinion,  little  chance  of  fulfill- 
ment. The  freedman  is  just  as  impotent  now  of  all  power  of  self- 
protection  as  he  was  before  the  ballot  was  given  hira,  —  nay,  perhaps 
more  so,  as  an  unskilled  person  may  injure  himself  with  the  finest 
of  Damascus  blades.  Pray  keep  in  your  mind  my  former  classifica- 
tion. Of  every  lumdred  of  the  blacks,  ninety-five  at  least  can  not 
read  or  write,  ninety-tive  are  landless,  and  at  least  eighty  hare  not 
sufficient  to  subsist  themselves  for  thirty  days  without  the  aid  of 
those  who  are  opposed  to  them  in  political  thought  with  an  inten- 
sity of  prejudice  you  can  not  begin  to  understand.  These  constitute 
three-fourths  of  the  Republican  party  of  the  South.  Of  the  remain- 
der (the  whites),  twenty-four  out  of  every  hundred  can  not  read 
their  ballots;  and  fifty-five  or  sixty  of  the  same  number  are  land- 
less, being  mere  day-laborers,  or  at  least  renters,  "  crappers  "  as 
they  are  called  here. 

So  that  of  this  party,  to  whom  the  wise  men  of  the  North  have 
given  power,  from  whom  they  expect  all  but  impossible  things, 
three-fourths  can  not  read  or  write,  five-sevenths  are  landless,  two- 
thirds  are  utterly  impoverished,  and  nearly  the  whole  is  inexperi- 
enced in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs.  Yet  upon  this  party  the 
nation  has  rolled  the  burden  of  restoration,  reconstruction,  re-organi- 
zation !  That  it  will  fail  is  as  certain  as  the  morrow's  sunrise.  For 
three  years  the  nation  has  had  this  problem  on  the  heads  and  hearts 
of  its  legislators,  and  has  not  made  one  step  towards  its  solution. 
The  highest  wisdom,  the  greatest  gravity,  the,  profoundest  knowl- 
edge, and  that  skill  which  comes  only  from  experience,  are  indispen- 


152  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

sably  necessary  to  this  task.  It  is  given  into  the  hands  of  weaklings; 
while  the  great  country'-,  wliose  interest,  prosperity,  and  good  faith, 
are  all  involved  in  securing  the  liberty  conferred  by  the  war,  and  in 
so  organizing  these  new  constituent  elements  that  they  shall  here- 
after be  a  source  of  strength,  and  not  danger,  —  this  country  stands 
off,  and  says,  "  I  will  not  touch  one  of  the  least  of  these  burdens  with 
m\'  little  linger.    The  South  must  take  care  of  itself." 

My  dear  old  friend,  it  can  not  be  done.  The  experiment  must  fail; 
and,  when  it  does  fail,  it  will  involve  us  all  —  us  of  the  South,  I  mean 
—  in  ruin;  but  the  North,  and  especially  the  Republican  party  of  the 
North,  will  be  responsible  for  this  ruin,  for  its  shame  and  its  loss,  for 
the  wasted  opportunity,  and,  it  may  be,  for  consequent  peril.  Of 
course  I  shall  share  it.  The  North  would  not  see  the  fact  that  war 
did  not  mean  regeneration,  nor  perform  the  duty  laid  upon  it  as  a 
conqueror.  The  alternative  placed  before  us  at  the  South  was  a 
powerless  acceptance  of  the  plan  of  reconstruction,  or  opposition 
and  hostility  to  the  government.  I,  in  common  with  others,  chose 
the  former.  A  loyal  man  could  not  do  otherwise.  Now  Ave,  and 
probably  we  alone,  must  share  and  bear  the  blame  of  its  failure.  I 
protest  in  advance  against  it.  If,  of  a  steamer's  crew  of  a  hundred 
men,  fifty  be  deaf-and-dumb,  and  only  five  of  them  all  have  ever 
been  afloat,  her  voyage  even  in  the  calmest  sea  is  not  likely  to  be  a 
safe  one;  but  when  it  is  in  a  season  of  typhoons,  off  a  dangerous 
coast  of  which  no  chart  has  ever  been  made,  its  destruction  may  be 
certainly  foretold.  And,  when  it  perishes  amid  the  breakers  of  a  lee- 
shore,  the  despairing  wretches,  who  call  for  aid  which  cometh  not, 
will  curse,  not  so  much  the  incompetent  captain  and  inefhcient 
steersman,  as  the  negligent  owners  who  sent  her  to  sea  with  such  a 
crew. 

It  is  so  with  us.  We  Republicans  of  the  South  will  go  down 
with  the  reconstruction  movement.  Some  of  us  will  make  a  good 
fight  for  the  doomed  craft;  ,others  will  neither  realize  nor  care  for  its 
danger:  but  on  neither  will  justly  rest  the  responsibility.  That  will 
rest  now  and  for  all  time  with  the  Republican  party  of  the  North,  — 
a  party  the  most  cowardly,  vacillating,  and  inconsistent  in  its  man- 
agement of  these  questions,  that  has  ever  been  known  in  anj'  gov- 
ernment. 

These  are  my  convictions.  I  might  get  awaj",  and  avoid  this  re- 
sult, so  far  as  I  am  concerned;  but  I  have  cast  in  my  lot  with  this 
people.  I  have  advocated  this  measure,  and  I  will  abide  with  them 
its  results. 

In  fact,  my  dear  Doctor,  I  begin  seriously  to  fear  that  the  North 
lacks  virility.     This  'cowardly  shirking  of  responsibility,  this  pan- 


A    GRUMBLER'S  FORECAST.  153 

dering  to  sentimental  whimsicalities,  this  snuffling  whine  al)out 
peace  and  conciliation,  is  sheer  weakness.  Tlie  North  is  simply  a 
conqueror  ;  and,  if  the  results  she  fought  for  are  to  be  secured,  she 
must  rule  as  a  conqueror.  Suppose  the  South  had  been  triumphant, 
and  had  overwhelmed  and  determined  to  hold  the  North  ?  Before 
now,  a  thoroughly  organized  system  of  provincial  government  would 
have  been  secui-ely  established.  There  would  have  been  no  hesita- 
tion, no  subterfuge,  no  pretence  of  restoration,  because  the  peo^ile 
of  the  South  are  born  rulers,  — aggressives,  who,  having  made  up 
their  minds  to  attain  a  certain  end,  adopt  the  means  most  likely  to 
secure  it.     In  tli^s  the  North  fails.     She  hesitates,  palters,  shirks. 

There  is  another  danger.  Rebellion  has  ended  without  punish- 
ment. It  is  true  the  South  has  lost,  — lost  her  men,  her  money, 
her  slaves  ;  but  that  was  only  a  gambler's  stake,  the  hazard  placed 
upon  the  dice.  There  was  talk  of  "  making  treason  odious."  How 
that  result  should  be  accomplished  was  a  serious  question;  but  how 
to  make  it  honorable,  1  fear  we  have  found  an  easy  matter  to  demon- 
strate. 

As  I  have  said,  the  party,  if  it  may  so  be  called,  to  whom  the 
mighty  task  of  rehabilitation  has  been  assigned,  must  fail  at  the 
South.  Already  we  hear  the  threat  from  the  highest  seats  in 
the  hostile  camps,  "  Just  wait  until  the  Blue  Coats  are  gone,  and 
we  will  make  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  more  tolerable  than  these 
States  to  Republicans  !  "  They  will  do  it  too.  They  have  the 
power,  the  intellect,  the  organizing  capacity,  the  determined  will. 
Our  numbers  only  make  us  a  cumbrous  rope  of  sand.  Weak,  inco- 
herent particles  are  not  made  strong  b.y  mere  multiplication.  In  the 
struggle  against  us,  the  most  reckless  and  unworthy  of  those  who 
led  in  the  war  will  again  come  to  the  front.  Their  success  will 
make  them  the  heroes  of  the  people,  and  they  will  win  place  and 
honor  thereby.  It  will  result  that  turbulent,  ambitious  men  will 
hereafter  say  that  the  road  to  honor,  renown,  fame,  and  power,  in 
our  nation,  lies  through  the  "  Traitor's  Gate."  Burr  and  his  coad- 
jutors won  only  shame  by  their  attempt  to  destroy  the  nation. 
Davis,  Lee,  and  their  compatriots  have  already  won  a  distinction 
and  eminence  they  could  not  have  hoped  for  had  they  remained 
peaceful  citizens  of  the  Republic.  They  are  destined  to  achieve 
far  greater  honor.  From  this  day  the  prestige  of  the  Federal  sol- 
dier will  begin  to  wane  throughout  the  land.  In  the  course  of 
another  decade,  one  will  almost  be  ashamed  to  confess  that  he  wore 
the  blue.  On  the  other  hand,  the  glory  of  the  Confederate  leader 
will  hourly  wax  greater  and  brighter.  The  latter  has  a  people 
devoted  and  steadfast,  to  whose  pride,  even  in  defeat,  he  can  appeal 


154  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

with  certainty  of  receiving  an  unshrinking  response.  Tlie  former 
has  a  coantr\'  debauched  by  weak  humanitarianisms,  more  anxious 
to  avoid  tlie  appearance  of  offending  its  enemies  tlian  desirous  of 
securing  its  own  j^ower  or  its  own  ends.  Tliese  men  who  have  led 
in  tlie  Rebellion  will  not  be  slow  to  ijerceive  and  take  advantage  of 
their  opportunity;  and  other  generations  following  them  will  note 
the  fact  that  the  sure,  safe,  and  brilliant  road  to  fame  and  success  is 
an  armed  rebellion  against  existing  powers.  You  may  think  me 
discouraged  and  morbid;  but  mark  my  words,  old  friend,  we  have 
sown  to  the  wind,  and  shall  reap  the  whirlwind. 

Yours  truly, 

Co:(?FORT  Servosse, 

So,  with  foreboding,  the  Fool  looked  to  the  future,  and 
awaited  the  event  of  that  great  experiment,  from  the  prelim- 
inaries of  which  he  was  only  able  to  presage  danger  and 
disaster. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BALAK    AND     BALAAM. 

The  re-action  from  subjection  to  autonomy  was  so  sudden 
and  astounding,  that  even  the  people  of  the  late  rebellious 
States  were  unable  to  realize  it  for  a  considerable  period. 
That  a  nation,  after  four  years  of  war,  the  loss  of  a  million  of 
men  and  uncounted  millions  of  treasure,  should  relax  its  grip 
upon  the  subjugated  territory,  relieve  its  people  of  all  disa- 
bilities, or  only  bar  from  a  useless  privilege  a  few  superannu- 
ated leaders,  who  only  thus  were  susceptible  of  martyrdom, 
and  without  guaranties  for  the  future,  or  without  power  of 
reversal  or  modification,  should  restore  this  territory,  this  peo- 
ple, these  States,  to  the  position  of  equal,  independent,  and 
co-ordinate  sovereignties,  was  so  incredible  a  proposition,  that 
years  were  required  for  its  complete  comprehension. 

During  these  years  the  public  press   of    the    South   was   a 


BALAK  AND  BALAAM.  155 

curious  study.  Immediately  after  the  close  of  the  war,  and 
until  about  the  period  of  the  rehabilitation  of  the  States,  its 
utterances  were  cautious  and  guarded.  While  there  was  almost 
always  an  undertone  which  might  be  construed  to  mean  either 
sullen  hate  or  unconcealable  chagrin,  there  was  little  of  that 
vindictive  bitterness  toward  the  North  which  had  immediately 
preceded  the  war,  or  attended  its  prosecution.  It  is  true,  that, 
in  some  instances,  its  bottles  of  unparalleled  infamy  were  un- 
stopped, and  poured  on  the  heads  of  unoffending  citizens  of 
Northern  birth,  or  those  natives  who  saw  fit  to  affiliate  with  the 
conqueror,  or  to  accept  office  at  his  hands.  This,  however,  was 
not  a  universal  rule.  As  soon  as  the  reconstruction  period 
had  passed,  this  caution  relaxed.  More  and  more  bitter,  more 
and  more  loathsome,  became  the  mass  of  Southern  journalism. 
Defiant  hostility,  bitter  animosity,  unrestricted  libertinism  in 
the  assaults  of  private  character,  poured  over  the  columns  of 
the  Southern  press  like  froth  upon  the  jaws  of  a  rabid  cur. 
Whatever  or  whoever  was  of  the  North  or  from  the  North  was 
the  subject  of  ridicule,  denunciation,  and  immeasurable  ma- 
lignity of  vituperation.  Whoever  had  aided,  assisted,  or  as- 
sented to  the  process  of  reconstruction,  became  a  target  for 
infamous  assault.  Rank,  station,  purity  of  life,  uprightness  of 
character,  religious  connection,  age,  sex,  were  no  safeguard  from 
these  assaults.  The  accumulated  malignity  of  the  years  of 
quietude  and  suppression  burst  its  bounds,  and  poured  over  the 
whole  country  a  disgusting  flood  of  hideous,  horrible,  improba- 
ble, and  baseless  accusation  and  rabid  vituperation.  Men  of 
the  fairest  lives  were  covered  over  with  unutterable  infamy ; 
women  of  the  highest  purity  were  accused  of  unnamable  enor- 
mities ;  and  even  children  of  tender  years  were  branded  with 
ineffaceable  marks  of  shame.  The  previous  training  which  the 
press  of  the  South  had  received  in  the  art  of  vilification,  under 
the  regime  of  slavery,  became  now  of  infinite  service  in  this 
verbal  crusade.  The  mass  of  their  readers  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  believe  any  thing  absurd  and  horrible,in  regard  to  the 
North.  To  them  it  was  already  the  land  of  thieves,  adulterers, 
infidels,  and  cheats.     Theye  rnight  be  good  men  there;    but 


156  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

they  were  counted  rarer  than  in  Sodom.  For  fifty  years  the 
necessities  of  slavery  had  rendered  the  cultivation  of  such  a 
sentiment  necessaiy  in  order  to  preserve  the  institution  from 
the  assaults  of  free  labor  and  free  thought.  To  turn  this  tide 
of  public  sentiment  against  the  ideas,  principles,  and  men  who 
M^ere  engaged  in  the  work  of  reconstruction,  to  intensify  its 
bitterness,  increase  its  credulity,  and  make  thereby  a  seven- 
times  heated  furnace  of  infamy  for  those  who  saw  fit  to  favor 
this  movement,  was  the  assigned  work  and  mission  of  the 
Southern  press,  and  right  nobly  was  it  executed.  Never  was 
such  unanimity,  never  was  such  persistency,  never  such  rivalry 
in  malevolence,  never  such  munificence  in  invective,  never  such 
fertility  in  falsehood. 

It  was  but  natural,  and  in  a  great  measure  fair,  upon  the 
principle  that  all  in  war  is  fair.  So  far  as  the  official  repre- 
sentatives of  the  government  were  concerned,  they  had  noth- 
ing of  which  to  complain.  They  represented  the  conqueror; 
and  if  their  master  was  inherently  or  accidentally  too  weak  to 
protect  them,  or  disinclined  to  compel  obedience  and  respect 
from  the  recently  vanquished  enemy,  it  was  only  the  fault  of 
their  employer,  whose  service  was  purely  voluntary.  The 
fools  who  had  removed  to  these  States  from  motives  of  ease  or 
profit,  engaging  in  production,  manufacture,  or  trade,  ought 
not  to  have  complained,  because  they  came  among  a  conquered 
people,  being  of  the  conqueror,  well  knowing  (or  at  least  they 
should  have  known)  the  generations  of  antagonism  which  war 
had  fused  into  hate,  and  having,  therefore,  no  right  to  look  for 
or  expect  kindliness,  favor,  or  even  fair  play.  If  they  did  so, 
it  was  their  own  folly. 

Those  who  had  most  right,  or  perhaps  the  sole  right,  to  com- 
plain, were  those  among  the  conquered  people  who  had  espoused 
the  cause  of  the  nation  before  or  after  the  downfall  of  the 
Confederacy.  They  had  a  right  to  suppose  that  the  conquer- 
ing power  would  at  least  make  itself  respectable,  and  would 
not  permit  its  Supporters  to  be  disgraced  by  the  mere  fact  of 
allegiance  to  it.  It  must  have  been  a  matter  of  sincere  aston- 
ishment to  the   Union  man  —  who  durijio:   the  war,  from    its 


BALAK  AND  BALAAM.  157 

inception  to  its  close,  perhaps,  had  been  an  uncompromising 
opponent  of  those  by  whom  it  was  waged,  had  perhaps  fought 
and  hidden  and  endured,  with  a  rare  faith  in  that  government 
from  which  he  was  cut  off,  but  to  which  he  had  adhered  with 
marvelous  fidelity  —  to  find,  after  the  war,  at  the  first,  his 
neighbors  flocking  to  him  in  order  to  obtain  the  benefit  of  his 
good  word,  his  intercession  with  the  powers  that  were,  in  their 
behalf.  It  must  indeed  have  been  a  proud  day  to  such  when 
those  who  had  persecuted  came  to  sue ;  and,  let  it  be  said  to 
their  credit,  rarely  was  application  made  to  them  in  vain. 
These  Union  men  were  a  most  forgiving  people,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  bestow^ed  the  divine  favor  of  forgiveness  without  price 
upon  the  very  men  who  had  wrought  them  the  sorest  evil.  But 
such  surprise  must  have  been  as  nothing  compared  with  the 
astonishment  with  which  the  Union  man  must  have  witnessed, 
after  the  accomplishment  of  reconstruction,  himself  made  an 
object  of  scorn,  and  his  family  visited  with  contumely  and 
Insult,  because  of  his  Union  record. 

As  Jehu  Brown  said  to  the  Fool  in  regard  to  it,  — 
"I  can't. understan'  it,  Colonel.  They  say  our  side  whipped ; 
that  the  Union  won,  an'  the  Confederacy  lost:  an'  yit  here  they 
be  a-puttin'  it  on  tu  me  like  all  possessed  day  arter  day,  an' 
abusin'  my  wife  an'  children  too  bad  for  white  folks  to  hear 
about,  jes  cos  I  was  a  Union  man.  There  must  be  some  mis- 
take. Colonel,  about  the  matter.  Either  'twas  the  t'other  folks 
that  surrendered  at  Appomattox,  or  else  you  an'  I  was  on  t'other 
side,  an'  hev  jes  been  a-dreamin'  that  we  was  Yank  an'  Union 
all  this  time  !  " 

The  most  amazing  thing  connected  wdth  this  matter,  how- 
ever, was  the  fact  that  the  press  of  the  North,  almost  without 
exception,  echoed  the  clamor  and  invective  of  the  Southern 
journals.  In  order  to  express  their  abhorrence  for  such  as 
dared  to  go  from  the  North,  thinking  to  become  residents  of 
the  South  without  an  absolute  surrender  of  all  that  they  had 
hitherto  accounted  principle,  one  who  was  of  more  intense 
virulence  than  the  others  invented  a  new  term,  or  rather  re- 
applied one  which  he  had  already  helped  to  make  infamous. 


158  A   FOODS  ERUAND. 

The  origin  of  this  new  vehicle  of  malignity  is  said  to  have 
been  this.  In  one  of  the  Xorth-western  States,  during  the 
early  days  of  "  wild-cat  money  "  as  it  was  termed,  a  plan  was 
devised  for  preventing  the  solvency  of  the  State  banks  from 
being  too  readily  tested.  An  organization  was  formed  which 
secured  its  issues  by  the  mortgage  of  land,  which  mortgage 
the  State  had  power  to  enforce  as  upon  forfeiture,  on  behalf 
of  the  Creditors,  whenever  the  notes  of  the  organization  (the^ 
called  it  a  bank)  "should  go  to  protest."  To  avoid  this  con- 
tingency was  then  the  prime  object.  As  the  law  had  neglected 
to  provide  that  banks  organized  under  it  should  have  a  perma- 
nent place  of  business,  this  object  was  for^a  considerable  time 
attained  by  neglecting  to  open  any  office,  or  having  any  perma- 
nent place  of  doing  business,  and  putting  their  notes  in  circu- 
lation by  means  of  agents,  who  carried  the  bills  about  the 
country  in  carpel-hags,  and  were  hence  denominated,  "  Carpet- 
baggers." It  is  said  that  one  of  these  v^eritable  carpet-baggers, 
an  editor,  who  during  the  war  had  exhausted  all  the  expletives 
of  which  he  was  master,  in  denunciation  of  Lincoln  and  the 
officers  and  men  of  the  Federal  army,  and  had,  in  return,  been 
branded  with  that  term  of  ineffaceable  shame  "  Copperhead," 
was  therefore  at  a  loss  for  some  fresh  epithet  to  bestow  upon 
the  new  class  whom  he  had  honored  with  his  hate,  and  sud' 
denly  bethought  himself  of  his  own  nickname.  Whereupon 
he  shouted,  "  Carpet-baggers  I  "  Instantly  it  spread  through 
the  press  of  the  South ;  and,  with  its  usual  subserviency,  that 
of  the  North  followed  in  its  lead,  and  re-echoed  its  maledic- 
tions. 

The  name  itself  was  a  stroke  of  genius.  "Whoever  first  be- 
stowed it  on  the  peripatetic  Wisconsin  cashier  was  undoubtedly 
akin  to  the  heaven-descended.  In  all  history  there  is  perhaps 
no  instance  of  so  perfect  and  complete  an  epithet.  Sans-cu- 
lotes  is  its  nearest  rival.  "  Abolitionist,"  its  immediate  prede- 
cessor, has  the  disadvantage  of  an  etymological  significance, 
which  sometimes  interfered  with  its  perfect  application. 
"Carpet-bagger"  had,  however,  all  the  essentials  of  a  denun- 
ciatory epithet  in  a  superlative  degree.     It  had  a  quaint  and 


BALAK  AND  BALAAM.  ^o\) 

ludicrous  sound,  was  utterly  without  defined  significance,  and 
was  altogether  unique.  It  was  susceptible  of  one  significance 
in  one  locality,  and  another  in  another,  without  being  open 
to  any  etymological  objection.  This  elasticity  of  signification 
is  of  prime  importance  in  a  disparaging  epithet:  there  is 
almost  always  a  necessity  for  it.  "  Abolitionist "  meant  only 
one  who  was  in  favor  of  the  abolition  of  slavery.  At  the 
North  it  had  this  significance,  and  no  more.  At  the  South 
it  meant  also,  one  who  was  in  favor  of,  and  sought  to  promote, 
negro-equality,  miscegenation,  rape,  murder,  arson,  and  an- 
archy, with  all  the  untold  horrors  which  the  people  there 
believed  would  follow  the  uprising  or  liberation  of  a  race  of 
untaught  savages,  lustful  as  apes,  bloodthirsty  as  cannibals, 
and  artful  as  satyrs. 

So  that  this  formulated  difference  then  prevailed  :  — 

AT    THE    NORTH. 

Alolitionist.  —  One  who  favors  the  emancipation  of  slaves. 

AT    THE    SOUTH. 

Abolitionist.  —  One  who  favors  emancipation  -f  infidel  -{- 
murderer  -j-  thief  +  ravisher  -[-  incendiary  -\-  all  hell's  accumu- 
lated horrors,  "  not  otherwise  appropriated." 

This  epithet,  as  was  said  before,  was  liable  to  objection 
among  a  people  who  thought  and  defined.  It  was  possible  to 
show  by  ratiocination,  as  well  as  example,  that  an  "aboli- 
tionist" was  not,  of  necessity,  an  infidel,  nor,  ex  vi  termini,  a 
murderer  or  thief.  So  when  an  unfortunate  minister  of  the 
gospel  happened  to  allow  somewhat  too  much  of  the  Master's 
truth  to  escape  his  lips,  while  tarrying  south  of  Mason's  and 
Dixon's  Line,  and  was  thereupon  treated  to  hickory  on  his  bare 
back,  or  hemp  around  his  gullet,  because  he  was  an  "  aboli- 
tionist," the  North  was  somewhat  shocked  at  the  disproportion 
between  the  offense  and  punishment;  but  the  South  heartily 
and  honestly  rejoiced,  and  thanked  God  with  renewed  devotion, 
because,  to  its  apprehension,  an  inconceivably  atrocious  monster 
had  been  destroyed  from  off  the  face  of  the  earth!  And  so 
the  game  of  cross-purposes  Avent  on. 


160  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"Carpet-bagger,"  which  was  in  some  sense  the  lineal  de- 
scendant of  "  abolitionist,"  was,  as  was  very  proper  for  a  second 
edition,  a  considerable  improvement  on  its  immediate  prede- 
cessor. It  was  undefined  and  undefinable.  To  the  Southern 
mind  it  meant  a  scion  of  the  North,  a  son  of  an  "abolition- 
ist," a  creature  of  the  conqueror,  a  witness  of  their  defeat,  a 
mark  of  their  degradation  :  to  them  he  was  hateful,  because 
he  recalled  all  of  evil  or  shame  which  they  had  ever  known. 
They  hissed  the  name  through  lips  hot  with  hate,  because  his 
presence  was  hateful  to  that  dear,  dead  Confederacy  which 
they  held  in  tender  memory,  and  mourned  for  in  widow's 
weeds,  as  was  but  natural  that  they  should  do.  They  hated 
the  Northern  man,  who  came  among  them  as  the  representa- 
tive and  embodiment  of  that  selfish,  malign,  and  envious 
North,  which  had  sent  forth  the  "  abolitionist "  in  ante  bellum 
days,  had  crushed  the  fair  South  in  her  heroic  struggle  to 
establish  a  slave-sustained  republic,  and  now  had  sent  spies 
and  harpies  to  prey  upon,  to  mock  and  taunt  and  jeer  them 
in  their  downfall  and  misfortune.  To  their  minds  the  word 
expressed  all  that  collective  and  accumulated  hate  which  gen- 
erations of  antagonism  had  engendered,  intensified  and  sub- 
limated by  the  white-heat  of  a  war  of  passionate  intensity 
and  undoubted  righteousness  to  the  hearts  of  its  promoters. 
The  Northern  man  who  set  up  his  family  altar  at  the  South 
stood,  by  natural  and  almost  necessary  synecdoche,  for  the 
North.  He  was  to  all  that  portion  of  the  South  which  arro- 
gates to  itself  the  term  Southern,  not  only  an  enemy,  but  the 
representative  in  miniature  of  all  their  enemies.  And  this  he 
was  of  course,  and  by  consequence  of  his  Northern  nativity. 
It  is  true,  he  might  in  part  relieve  himself  from  this  imputa- 
tion; but  it  rested  upon  him  to  do  so.  The  presumption  was 
against  him;  and,  in  order  to  rebut  it,  he  must  take  the 
Gaelic  oath  to  "  love  whom  thou  lovest,  hate  whom  thou 
hatest,  bless  whom  thou  blessest,  and  curse  whom  thou  dost 
anathematize." 

To  the  Northern  mind,  however,  the  word  had  no  vicarious 
significance.     To  their  apprehension,  the  hatred  it  embodied 


BALAK  AND  BALAAM.  161 

was  purely  personal,  and  without  regard  to  race  or  nativity. 
Tliey  thour/ht  (foolish  creatures  I)  that  it  was  meant  to  apply 
solely  to  those,  who,  without  any  visible  means  of  support, 
lingering  in  the  wake  of  a  victorious  army,  preyed  upon  the 
conquered  people. 

So  these  formulated  significations  prevailed :  — 

AT    THE    NORTH. 

Carpet-bagger.  —  A  man  without  means,  character,  or  occupa- 
tion, an  adventurer,  a  camp-follower,  "a  bummer." 

AT    THE    SOUTH. 

Carpet-bagger.  —  A  man  of  Northern  birth  -\-  an  abolitionist 
(according  to  the  Southern  definition) -[- an  incarnation  of 
Northern  hate,  envy,  spleen,  greed,  hypocrisy,  and  all  unclean- 


So  the  South  cursed  "  carpet-baggers,"  because  they  were  of 
the  North ;  and  the  North  cursed  them  because  the  South  set 
the  example. 

In  nothing  has  the  South  shown  its  vast  moral  superiority 
over  the  North  more  than  in  this.  "I  pray  thee  curse  me  this 
people,"  it  said  to  the  North,  first  of  the  "  abolitionists,"  and 
then  of  the  "  carpet-baggers ;  "  and  the  North  cursed,  not  know- 
ing whom  it  denounced,  and  not  pausing  to  inquire  whether 
they  were  worthy  of  stripes  or  not.  Perhaps  there  is  no  other 
instance  in  historj'  in  which  the  conquering  power  has  discred- 
ited its  own  agents,  denounced  those  of  its  own  blood  and 
faith,  espoused  the  prejudices  of  its  conquered  foes,  and  poured 
the  vials  of  its  wrath  and  contempt  upon  the  only  class  in  the 
conquered  territory  who  defended  its  acts,  supported  its  policy, 
promoted  its  aim,  or  desired  its  preservation  and  continuance. 


162  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER     XXVII. 

A    NEW    INSTITUTION. 

There  had  been  rumors  in  the  air,  for  some  months,  of  a 
strangely  mysterious  organization,  said  to  be  spreading  over 
the  Southern  States,  ^'hich  added  to  the  usual  intangibility  of 
the  secret  society  an  element  of  grotesque  superstition  un- 
matched in  the  history  of  any  other. 

It  was  at  first  regarded  as  farcical,  and  the  newspapers  of  the 
North  un\Yittingly  accustomed  their  readers  to  regard  it  as  a 
piece  of  the  broadest  and  most  ridiculous  fun.  Here  and  there 
throughout  the  South,  by  a  sort  of  sporadic  instinct,  bauds  of 
ghostly  horsemen,  in  quaint  and  horrible  guise,  appeared,  and 
admonished  the  lazy  and  trifling  of  the  African  race,  and 
threatened  the  vicious.  They  claimed  •  to  the  affrighted 
negroes,  it  was  said,  to  be  the  ghosts  of  departed  Confederates 
who  had  come  straight  from  the  confines  of  hell  to  regulate 
affairs  about  their  former  homes. 

All  this  was  a  matter  of  infinite  jest  and  amusement  to  the 
good  and  wise  people  of  the  North.  What  could  be  funnier, 
or  a  more  appropriate  subject  of  mirth,  than  that  the  chivalric 
but  humorous  and  jocose  Southrons  should  organize  a  ghostly 
police  to  play  upon  the  superstitious  fears  of  the  colored  people, 
who  were  no  doubt  Very  trifling,  and  needed  a  good  deal  of 
regulation  and  restraint  V  So  the  Northern  patriot  sat  back  in 
his  safe  and  quiet  home,  and  laughed  himself  into  tears  and 
spasms  at  the  grotesque  delineations  of  ghostly  K.  K.  K.'s  and 
terrified  darkies,  for  months  before  any  idea  of  there  being  any 
impropriety  therein  dawned  on  his  mind  or  on  the  minds  of 
the  wise  men  who  controlled  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  That  a 
few  hundreds,  a  few  thousands,  or  even  millions,  of  the  colored 
race,  should  be  controlled  and  dominated  by  their  superstitious 
fears,  deprived  of  their  volition,  and  compelled  to  follow  the 


A   NEW  INSTITUTION.  168 

behests  of  others,  was  not  regarded  as  at  all  dangerous  in  a 
republic,  and  as  \Yorthy  of  remark  only  from  its  irresistibly 
amusing  character. 

It  was  in  the  winter  of  18G8-69,  therefore,  when  the  wise 
men  were  jubilant  over  the  success  of  the  Great  Experiment; 
when  it  was  said  that  already  Reconstruction  had  been  an 
approved  success,  the  traces  of  the  war  been  blotted  out,  and 
the  era  of  the  millennium  anticipated,  —  that  a  little  company 
of  colored  men  came  to  the  Fool  one  day ;  and  one  of  them, 
who  acted  as  spokesman,  said,  — 

"AVhat's  dis  we  hear.  Mars  Kunnel,  bout  de  Klux?" 

"  The  what?  "  he  asked. 

"  De  Klux  —  de  Ku-Kluckers  dey  calls  demselves." 

"Oh I  the  Ku-Klux,  Ku-Klux-Klan,  K.  K.  K.'s,  you  mean." 

"Yes:  dem  folks  what  rides  about  at  night  a-pesterin' pore 
colored  people,  an'  a-pertendin'  tu  be  jes  from  hell,  or  some  of 
de  battle-fields  ob  ole  Virginny." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  gammon  !  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  in 
it,  —  nothing  at  all.  Probably  a  parcel  of  boys  now  and  then 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  scare  a  few  colored  people ;  but 
that's  all.  It  is  mean  and  cowardly,  but  nothing  more.  You 
needn't  have  any  trouble  about  it,  boys." 

"An'  you  tink  dat's  all,  Kunnel  ?  " 

"All  ?     Of  course  it  is  !     AVhat  else  should  there  be?  " 

"I  dunno,  ]Mars  Kunnel,"  said  one. 

*' You  don't  think  dey's  ghostses,  nor  nothin'  ob  dat  sort?" 
asked  another. 

"Think  !     I  know  they  are  not." 

"  So  do  I,"  growled  one  of  their  number  who  had  not  spoken 
before,  in  a  tone  of  such  meaning  that  it  drew  the  eyes  of  the 
Fool  upon  him  at  once. 

"  So  your  mind's  made  up  on  that  point  too,  is  it,  Bob?"  he 
asked  laughingly. 

"  I  know  dey's  not  ghosts,  Kunnel.  1  wish  ter  God  dey  was  !" 
was  the  reply.  , 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Bob  ? "  asked  the  colonel  in 
surprise. 


164  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

""Will  you  jes  help  me  take  off  my  shirt,  Jim?  "  said  Bob 
meaningly,  as  he  turned  to  one  of  those  with  him. 

The  speaker  was  taller  than  the  average  of  his  race,  of  a 
peculiarly  jetty  complexion,  broad-shouldered,  straight,  of  com- 
pact and  powerful  build.  His  countenance,  despite  its  black- 
ness, was  sharply  cut;  his  head  well  shaped;  and  his  whole 
appearance  an4  demeanor  marked  him  as  a  superior  specimen 
of  his  race.  Servosse  had  seen  him  before,  and  knew  him  well 
as  an  industrious  and  thrifty  blacksmith,  living  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  county,  who  was  noted  as  being  one  of  the  most 
independent  and  self-reliant  of  his  people  in  all  political  as 
well  as  pecuniary  matters,  —  Bob  Martin  by  name. 

When  his  clothing  had  been  removed,  he  turned  his  back 
towards  the  Fool,  and,  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  said 
coolly,  — 

*'  What  d'ye  tink  ob  dat,  Kunnel  ?  " 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  Fool,  starting  back  in  surprise 
and  horror.     ''  AVhat  does  this  mean,  Bob  ?  " 

"  Seen  de  Kluckers,  sah,"  was  the  grimly-laconic  answer. 

The  sight  which  presented  itself  to  tiie  Fool's  eyes  was  truly 
terrible.  The  broad  muscular  back,  from  the  nape  down  to 
and  below  the  waist,  was  gashed  and  marked  by  repeated 
blows.  Great  furrows  were'  plowed  in  the  black  integument, 
whose  greenly-livid  lips  were  drawn  back,  while  the  coagulated 
fibrine  stretched  across,  and  mercifully  protected  the  lacerated 
flesh.  The  whole  back  was  livid  and  swollen,  bruised  as  if  it 
had  been  brayed  in  a  mortar.  Apparently,  after  having  cut 
the  flesh  with  closely-laid  welts  and  furrows,  sloping  downward 
from  the  left  side  towards  the  right,  with  that  peculiar  skill  in 
castigation  which  could  only  be  obtained  through  the  abundant 
opportunity  for  severe  and  deliberate  flagellation  which  pre- 
vailed under  the  benign  auspices  of  slavery,  the  operator  had 
changed  his  position,  and  scientifically  cross-checked  the  whole. 
That  he  was  an  expert  whose  skill  justified  Bob's  remark  — 
"Nobody  but  an  ole  oberseer  ebber  dun  dat,  Kunnel" — was 
evident  even  on  a  casual  inspection.  The  injury  which  the  roan 
had  sustained,  though  extensive  and  severe,  was  not  dangerous 


A    2 


NEW  INSTITUTION.  165 


to  one  of  liis  constitution  and  hardened  physique.  To  the  eye 
of  the  Northern  man  who  gazed  at  it,  however,  unused  as  are 
all  his  compeers  to  witness  the  effects  of  severe  whipping,  it 
seemed  horrible  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express.  He 
did  not  reflect  that  the  African  could  have  had  none  of  that 
sense  of  indignity  and  degradation  Mith  which  the  Caucasian 
instinctively  regards  the  application  of  the  emblem  of  servility, 
and  that  he  was  but  fulfilling  the  end  of  his  dusky  being  in 
submitting  to  such  castigation.  He  was  filled  with  anger,  sur- 
prise, and  horror. 

u  ^vhat  ?  —  Who  ?  —  How  ?  My  God  !  Tell  me  all  about 
it.     Can't  I  do  something  for  you,  my  man  ?  " 

"Thank  ye,  Kunnel,  nothing,"  said  Bob  seriously.  "It's 
been  washed  in  salt  an'  water.  Dat's  de  bes'  ting  dere  is  to 
take  out  de  soreness;  an'  it's  doin  as  well  as  can  be  expected, 
I  s'pose.  I  don't  know  much  'bout  sech  matters,  Boss.  I'se 
bin  a  slave  goin'  on  forty-three  years,  but  never  hed  a  lash  on 
my  back  sence  I  was  a  waitin'-boy  till  las'  night." 

His  face  was  working  with  passion,  and  his  eyes  had  a  wicked 
fire  in  them,  which  clearly  showed  that  he  did  not  take  this 
visitation  in  such  a  subdued  and  grateful  spirit  as  his  position 
properly  demanded  that  he  should.  When  his  clothing  had 
been  resumed,  he  sat  down  and  poured  into  the  wondering  ears 
of  the  Fool  this  story :  — 

bob's  experience. 
"Yer  see,  I'se  a  blacksmith  at  Burke's  Cross-Roads.  I've 
been  thar  ever  sence  a  few  days  arter  I  heerd  ob  de  surrender. 
I  rented  an  ole  house  dar,  an'  put  up  a  sort  of  shop,  an'  got 
togedder  a  few  tools,  an'  went  to  work.  It's  a  right  good  stan'. 
Never  used  ter  be  ob  any  count,  coz  all  de  big  plantations  roun' 
dar  hed  der  own  smifs.  But  now  de  smifs  hez  scattered  off, 
an'  dey  hev  ter  pay  fer  der  work,  dey  finds  it  cheaper  ter  come 
ter  my  shop  dan  ter  hire  a  blacksmif  when  dey's  only  half  work 
fer  him  to  do.  So  I'se  been  doin'  right  well,  an'  hev  bought 
de  house  an'  lot,  an'  got  it  all  paid  fer,  tu.  I've  allers  tended 
to  my  own  business.     'Arly  an'  late  Bob's  bin  at  his  shop,  an' 


166  A   FOOUS  ERRAND, 

jillers  at  work.  I  'llowed  to  get  me  a  snug  home  fer  myself 
au'  de  ole  'ooman  afore  we  got  tu  old  ter  work  ;  an'  I  wanted 
to  give  de  boys  an'  gals  a  little  eddication,  an'  let  em  hev  a 
fa'r  start  in  life  wid  de  rest  ob  de  worl',  if  I  could.  Dat's  what 
Fiob's  bin  wukkin'  fer ;  an'  der  ain't  no  man  ner  woman,  black 
ner  white,  can  say  he  hain't  wukked  honestly  and  fa'rly,  — 
honestly  an'  fa'rly,  ebbery  day  sence  he's  bin  his  own  master. 

"Long  a  while  back  —  p'raps  five  er  six  months  —  I  refused 
ter  du  some  work  fer  Michael  Anson  or  his  boy,  'cause  they'd 
run  up  quite  a  score  at  de  shop,  an'  allers  put  me  off  when  I 
wanted  pay.  I  couldn't  work  jes  fer  de  fun  ob  scorin'  it  down: 
so  I  quit.  It  made  smart  ob  talk.  Folks  said  I  w^az  gettin'  too 
smart  fer  a  nigger,  an'  sech  like ;  but  I  kep  right  on ;  tole  em 
I  waz  a  free  man,  —  not  born  free,  but  made  free  by  a  miracle, 
—  an'  I  didn't  proi:)ose  ter  do  any  man's  work  fer  noffin'.  Most 
everybody  hed  somefin'  to  say  about  it ;  but  it  didn't  seem  ter 
hurt  my  trade  very  much.  I  jes  Avent  on  gittin'  all  I  could  do, 
an'  sometimes  moah.  I  s'pose  I  acted  pretty  independent :  I 
felt  so,  anyhow.  I  staid  at  home,  an'  axed  nobody  any  favors. 
I  know'd  der  wa'n't  a  better  blacksmif  in  de  country,  an' 
thought  I  hed  things  jes'  ez  good  ez  I  wanted  'em.  When  ther 
come  an  election,  I  sed  my  say,  did  my  own  votin',  an'  tole  de 
other  colored  people  dey  waz  free,  an'  hed  a  right  ter  du  de 
same.  Thet's  bad  doctrine  up  in  our  country.  De  white  folks 
don't  like  ter  hear  it,  and  'specially  don't  like  ter  hear  a  nigger 
say  it.  Dey  don't  mind  'bout  our  gittin'  on  ef  dey  hev  a  mort- 
gage, so't  de  'arnin's  goes  into  ther  pockets;  nor  'bout  our 
votin',  so  long  ez  we  votes  ez  dey  tells  us.  Dat's  dare  idea  uv 
liberty  fer  a  nigger. 

"  Well,  here  a  few  weeks  ago,  I  foun'  a  board  stuck  up  on  m.y 
shop  one  mornin',  wid  dese  words  on  to  it :  — 

"  '  Bob  Maktix,  —  You're  gettin'  too  dam  smart !  The  white  folks 
round  Burke's  Cross-Roads  don't  want  any  sech  smart  niggers 
round  thar.    You'd  better  git,  er  you'll  hev  a  call  from  the 

'"K.  K.  K.' 

"I'd  heerd  'bout  the  Klux,  an'  'llowd  jes'  ez  jo\x  did,  Kunnel, 
—  dat  dey  waz  some  triflin'  boys  dat  fixed  up  an'  went  round  jes' 


A    NEW  INSTITUTION.  167 

ter  scare  pore  ignorant  niggers,  an'  it  made  me  all  the  madder 
ter  think  dey  should  try  dat  ar  game  on  me.  So  I  sed  boldly, 
an'  afore  everybody,  thet  ef  the  Kluckers  wanted  enny  thin'  uv 
Bob  :Martin,  they'd  better  come  an'  git  it;  thet  I  didn't  'bleve 
any  nonsense  about  ther  comin'  straight  from  hell,  an'  drinkin' 
the  rivers  dry,  an'  all  that :  but,  ef  they'd  come  ter  meddle  with 
me,  I  'llowed  some  on  'em  mout  go  to  hell  afore  it  was  over. 

'- 1  worked  mighty  hard  an'  late  yesterday,  an',  when  I  went 
into  de  house,  I  was  so  tired  thet  I  jes'  fell  down  on  de 
trundle-bed  dat  hed  bin  pulled  out  in  front  ob  de  souf  do'. 
AVhen  my  ole  'ooman  got  supper  ready,  an'  called  me,  I  jes' 
turned  over,  an'  was  that  beat  out  an'  sleepy,  that  I  tole  her  to 
let  me  alone.  So  I  lay^  thar,  an'  slep'.  She  put  away  de 
supper-tings,  an'  tuk  part  ob  de  chillen  into  bed  wid  her;  an' 
de  rest  crawled  in  wid  me,  I  s'pose.  I  donno  nothin'  about  it, 
fer  I  nebber  woke  up  till  some  time  in  de  night.  I  kinder 
remember  hearin'  de  dog  bark,  but  I  didn't  mind  it ;  an',  de  fust 
ting  I  knew,  de  do'  was  bust  in,  an'  fell  off  de  hinges  ober  on  de 
trundle-bed  whar  I  was  lyin'.  It's  a  mercy  I  was  thar.  I 
don't  s'pose  I've  lain  down  on  it  fer  a  year  afore,  an',  ef  de  chil- 
len hed  all  been  thar  alone,  it's  mor'n  likely  they'd  all  been 
killed.  They  hed  taken  a  house-log  I  hed  got  (tinkin'  ter  put 
up  a  kitchen  arter  Christmas),  an'  free  or  four  of  'em  hed 
run  wid  it  endwise  agin  de  do'.  So,  when  I  woke  from 
de  crash,  I  hed  do'  an'  house-log  bofe  on  me,  an'  de  ole 
'ooman  an'  chillen  screamiu',  so't  I  couldn't  make  out  fer  a 
minnit  what  it  was,  er  whar  I  was.  De  moon  was  a-shinin 
bright,  an'  I  'spect  de  rascals  fought  I'd  run,  an'  dey  would 
shoot  me  as  I  come  out.  But,  as  soon  as  dey  saw  me  heavin' 
an'  strugglin'  under  de  do',  two  on  'em  run  in,  an'  got  on  top  of 
it.  It  was  no  use  fer  me  to  struggle  any  more  under  dat  load. 
Besides  dat,  I  was  feared  dey'd  kill  de  chillen.  So  I  tole 
'em  ef  dey'd  get  off,  an'  spar'  de  chillen,  I'd  surrender.  Dey 
wouldn't  bleve  me,  dough,  till  dey'd  tied  my  ban's.  Den  dey 
got  off  de  do',  an'  I  riz  up,  an'  kind  o'  pushed  it  an'  de  house- 
log  off  de  trundle-bed.  Den  dey  pulled  me  out  o'  do's.  Dar 
was  'bout   tirty   of    'em  standiu'    dar    in   de  moonlight,  aU 


168  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

dressed  in  black  gowns  thet  come  down  to  ther  boots,  an'  some 
sort  of  high  hat  on,  dat  come  down  ober  der  faces,  jes'  leavin' 
little  holes  ter  see  fru,  an'  all  trimmed  wid  different  colored 
cloth,  but  mos'ly  white. 

"  I  axed  'em  what  dey  wanted  o'  me.  Dey  sed  I  was  gittin 
tu  dam  smart,  an'  dey'd  jes'  come  roun'  ter  teach  me  some 
little  manners.  Den  dey  tied  me  tu  a  tree,  an'  done  what 
you've  seen.  Dey  tuk  my  wife  an'  oldes'  gal  out  ob  de  house, 
tore  de  close  nigh  about  off  'em,  an'  abused  'em  shockin'  afore 
my  eyes.  Arter  tarin'  tings  up  a  heap  in  de  house,  dey  rode 
off,  tellin'  me  dey  reckoned  I'd  laru  to  be  'spectful  to  white 
folks  herearter,  an'  not  refuse  to  work  unless  I  hed  pay  in 
advance,  an'  not  be  so  anxious  'bout  radical  votes.  Den  my 
ole  woman  cut  me  loose,  an'  we  w^ent  into  de  house  ter  see  what 
devilment  dey'd  done  dar.  We  called  de  chillen.  Dar's  five 
on  'em,  —  de  oldes'  a  gal  'bout  fifteen-  an'  de  younges'  only 
little  better'n  a  year  ole.  We  foun'  'em  all  but  de  baby.  I 
don'  tink  he  ebber  breaved  arter  de  do'  fell  on  us." 

The  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor  man  as  he  finished. 
The  Fool  looked  at  him  in  a  glamour  of  amazement,  pity,  and 
shame.  He  could  not  help  feeling  humiliated,  that,  in  his  own 
Christian  land,  one  should  be  so  treated  by  such  a  cowardly- 
seeming  combination,  simply  for  having  used  the  liberty  w^hich 
the  law  had  given  him  to  acquire  competence  and  independ- 
ence by  his  own  labor. 

"Why  have  you  not  complained  of  this  outrage  to  the 
authorities  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  moment. 

'•  I  tole  Squire  Haskins  an'  Judge  Thompson  what  I  hev  tole 
you,"  answered  Bob. 

"  And  what  did  they  say  V  " 

"  Dat  dey  couldn't  do  noffin'  unless  I  could  sw'ar  to  de 
parties." 

"  Did  you  not  recognize  any  of  them  ?  " 

"  Not  to  say  recognize  ;  dat  is,  not  so  dat  I  could  tell  you  so 
dat  you  could  know  de  persons  as  de  ones  I  named.  I'm  nigh 
'bout  sartin,  from  a  lot  of  little  tings,  who  dey  was;  but  I 
couldn't  sw'ar." 


A    NEW  INSTITUTIOX.  109 

"  Did  you  not  know  the  voices  of  any  of  them  ?  " 

<'Yes,  I  did.  But  de  judge  says  I  would  jes'  be  makin' 
trouble  fer  myself  to  no  'count;  fer  he  says  no  jury  would 
convict  on  sech  evidence  when  unsupported." 

"  I  suppose  he  is  right,"  mused  the  Colonel.  "  And  there 
does  not  seem  to  be  any  way  for  you  to  get  redress  for  what 
has  been  done  to  you,  unless  you  can  identify  those  who  did 
the  injury  so  clearly  that  no  jury  can  resist  a  conviction. 
I  suppose  the  vast  majority  of  jurymen  will  be  disinclined 
even  to  do  justice.  Perhaps  some  of  the  very  men  who  were 
engaged  in  the  act  may  be  on  the  jury,  or  their  brothers, 
fathers,  or  friends.  So  it  M'ould  be  useless  for  you  to  attempt 
a  prosecution  unless  you  had  the  very  strongest  and  clearest 
testimony.  I  doubt  not  the  judge  was  right  in  the  advice  he 
gave  you." 

"And  do  you  tink  der  is  any  chance  o'  my  gittin'  sech 
testimony  ?  "  asked  Bob. 

"I  confess,"  answered  the  Fool,  "that  I  see  very  little. 
Time  and  care  might  possibly  enable  you  to  get  it." 

"Der's  no  hope  o'  dat,  — no  hope  at  all,"  answered  the  freed- 
man  sadly. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  the  colored  man 
asked, — 

"Isn't  dere  no  one  else,  Kunnel,  dat  could  do  any  ting? 
Can't  de  President  or  Congress  do  somefin'?  De  gov'ment 
sot  us  free,  an'  it  'pears  like  it  oughtn't  to  let  our  old  masters 
impose  on  us  in  no  sech  way  now.  I  ain't  no  coward,  Kunnel, 
an'  I  don't  want  to  brag;  but  I  ain't  'feared  of  no  man.  I 
don't  niin'  sufferin'  nor  dyin'  ef  I  could  see  any  good  to  come 
from  it.  Pd  be  willin'  ter  fight  fer  my  liberty,  er  fer  de  coun- 
try dat  give  me  liberty.  But  I  don't  tink  liberty  was  any 
favor  ef  we  are  to  be  cut  up  an'  murdered  jes'  de  same  as  in 
slave  times,  an'  wuss  too.  Bob'U  take  keer  of  himself,  an'  his 
wife  an'  chillen  too,  ef  dey'll  only  give  him  a  white  man's 
chance.  But  ef  men  can  come  to  his  house  in  de  middle  ob 
de  night,  kill  his  baby,  an'  beat  an'  abuse  him  an'  his  family 
ez  much  ez  dey  please,  jes'  by  puttin'  a  little  black  cloth  ober 
der  faces,  I  may  ez  well  give  up,  an'  be  a  slave  agin." 


170  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

''If  it  keeps  on,  and  grows  general,"  responded  the  Cauca- 
sian, ''the  government  will  have  to  interfere.  The  necessity 
will  be  such  that  they  can  not  resist  it.  I  don't  quite  see 
how  it  can  be  done,  now  that  these  States  are  restored;  but 
the  government  ijiust  protect  the  lives  of  its  citizens,  and  it 
oufjht  to  protect  their  liberties.  I  don't  know  how  it  may  be 
done.  It  may  declare  such  acts  treasonable,  and  outlaw  the 
offenders,  authorizing  any  man  to  kill  them  when  engaged  in 
such  unlawful  acts." 

"  If  dey  would  only  do  dat,  Kunnel,  w^e'd  soon  put  an  end 
to  de  Ku-Kluckers.  We'd  watch  de  roads,  an',  ebery  time 
dey  rode  frue  de  bushes,  dere'd  be  some  less  murderin'  Kluckers 
dan  when  dey  started  out.  Hav'  'em  du  dat,  Kunnel,  an'  we's 
all  right.  Jes'  gib  us  a  fa'r  chance,  an'  de  culled  men'U  tak' 
keer  o'  dersel's.  We  ain't  cowards.  We  showed  dat  in  de 
wah.  I'se  seen  darkeys  go  whar  de  white  troops  wa'n't 
anxious  to  f oiler  'em,  mor'n  once." 

"  Where  was  that.  Bob?  " 

"  Wal,  at  Fo't  Wagner,  for  one." 

"  How^  did  you  know  about  that  ?  " 

"  How  did  I  know  'bout  dat  ?  Bress  yer  soul,  Kunnel,  I  was 
dar!" 

"How  did  that  happen?  I  thought  you  were  raised  in  the 
up  country  here  ?  " 

"  So  I  was,  Kunnel ;  but,  when  I  heerd  dat  Abram  Linkum 
had  gib  us  our  freedom,  I  made  up  ray  mine  I'd  go  an'  git 
my  sheer,  an',  ef  dar  was  any  ting  I  could  do  to  help  de  rest 
of  my  folks  to  git  dars,  I  was  gwine  ter  du  it.  •  So  I  managed 
to  slip  away,  one  wayer  'nother,  an'  got  fru  de  lines  down 
'bout  Charleston,  an'  jined  de  Fifty-fo'  Massachusetts  Culled, 
Kunnel.     Dat's  how  I  come  to  be  at  Wagner." 

"  That  explains,  in  part,  the  feeling  against  you,  I  suppose," 
said  Servosse. 

"  It  s'plains  annudder  ting  tu,  Kunnel,"  said  the  colored 
man  doggedly. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  white  ex-soldier. 

"  It  s'plains  why,  ef   dere's  any  mo'  Kluckers  raidin'  roun' 


A    NEW  INSTITUTION.  ITl 

Burke's  Corners,  dar'll  be  some   funerals   tu,"  was   the  grim 
reply. 

'•  I  can't  blame  you,  Bob,"  said  the  white  man,  looking 
frankly  into  his  face  as  it  worked  with  agony  and  rage. 
"  A  man  has  a  right  to  protect  himself  and  his  family ;  and, 
if  our  government  is  too  blind  or  too  weak  to  put  down  this 
new  rebellion,  there  are  only  three  courses  before  us,  —  you  and 
me,  and  those  who  stood  with  us :  the  one  is  to  fight  the 
devil  with  fire,  —  to  kill  those  who  kill,  —  guard  the  fords, 
and,  whenever  we  see  a  man  in  disguise,  shoot  him  down  ; 
another  is  to  give  up  every  thing  else  for  the  privilege  of 
living  here;  and  the  tliird  is  to  get  away." 

"  It  will  come  to  dat,  Kunnel.  Ef  de  gubment  won't  take 
keer  o'  de  darkeys  y'her,  an'  gib  'em  a  white  man's  chance, 
dey'U  run  away,  jes'  ez  dey  did  in  slave  times.  Dat's  my 
notion,"  said  the  freedman,  who  had  fought  to  save  the  life 
of  the  nation,  which  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  save  his  in 
return. 

''  God  only  know^s,"  answered  the  soldier,  who  had  been 
branded  as  a  "  Carpet-bagger  "  throughout  the  land,  because 
he  was  born  at  the  North,  had  fought  for  the  country,  and 
thought  he  had  a  right  to  live  where  he  chose. 

A  hearty  dinner  and  a  glass  of  liquor  were  the  only  sub- 
stantial benefits  which  he  could  confer  on  the  suffering  fellow, 
who  went  away  with  his  companions  to  consult  with  friends 
in  the  village  which  had  grown  up  as  the  colored  suburb  of 
Verdenton,  and  was  now  known  as  Huntsville,  being  named 
from  the  owner  of  the  plantation  out  of  which  it  was  princi- 
pally carved.  It  had  been  sold  at  public  sale,  and  bought  up 
by  the  Fool,  who  had  divided  it  up  into  lots,  and  sold  it  out  in 
this  manner,  together  with  a  part  of  Warrington. 

It  was  a  new  and  terrible  revelation  to  the  Fool.  He  saw  at 
once  how^  this  potent  instrumentality  might  be  used  so  as  to 
effectually  destroy  the  liberty  of  the  newly  enfrancliised  citi- 
zen, and  establish  a  serfdom  more  barbarotis  and  horrible  than 
any  on  earth,  because  it  would  be  the  creature  of  lawless 
insolence.      He   saw,  too,  that  this   might   easily  be   effected 


172  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

^vithout  any  tangible  and  punishable  violation  of  the  law. 
His  heart  was  wrung  in  agony  for  his  poor  neighbors.  For 
himself,  it  did  not  yet  occur  to  him  to  fear. 

There  was  much  excitement  in  the  little  village  of  Huntsville 
that  day.  Betwixt  fear  and  rage,  the  heart  of  every  one  was 
in  a  ferment  at  the  outrage  committed  upon  Bob  Martin.  For 
once,  Uncle  Jerry  lorgot  his  accustomed  prudence,  and  moved 
by  a  very  unreasonable  anger  at  the  impotency  of  the  law, 
which  could  not  punish  those  who  could  not  be  clearly  identi- 
fied, he  openly  and  boldly  declared  the  monstrous  doctrine  that 
the  colored  people  ought  to  defend  themselves  and  each  other. 
That  he  should  entertain  such  ideas  was  in  itself  a  misfor- 
tune ;  that  he  should  give  expression  to  such  incendiary  no- 
tions was  a  fatal  error. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

A   BUNDLE    OF    DRY    STICKS. 

To  show  more  clearly  the  surroundings  of  the  Fool,  we  make 
a  few  extracts  from  his  little  book,  and  records  which  he  had 
collected  and  preserved,  apparently  in  illustration  of  this  inter- 
esting era. 

The  first  is  from  a  friend  in  a  distant  county  :  — 

"  The  Ku-Klux  have  appeared  in  our  county.  I  have  been  warned 
to  leave  within  twenty  days.  A  coffin  was  put  at  my  door  last  night. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  It  would  leave  my  family  very  badly  off 
if  any  thing  should  happen  to  me.  All  I  have  is  invested  here,  and 
I  am  afraid  they  will  get  me  if  I  remain." 

The  next  was  from  an  adjoining  county :  — 

"  Three  colored  men  were  whipped  by  the  K,  K.  K.  a  few  miles 
from  this  place  on  Saturday  night.  One  of  them  I  do  not  know: 
the  others  were  as  good  colored  men  as  there  ever  were  in  the 
county.    The  reason  given  was,  that  they  had  been  sassy  :  the  true 


A   BUNDLE   OF  DRY  STICKS.  173 

reason  is  believed  to  be  that  they  were  acquiring  property,  and 
becoming  independent.  Can  nothing  be  done  ?  Our  people  are 
becoming  very  much  excited.  I  am  afraid  this  thing  will  lead  to 
trouble." 

The  next  was  from  still  another  county  :  — 

"  It  seems  as  if  things  were  getting  too  bad  to  think  of  with  us. 
Two  white  and  three  colored  men  were  terribly  beaten  in  this  coun- 
ty on  Wednesday  night.  On  Friday  night  two  colored  men  were 
hanged.  They  were  accused  of  arson;  but  there  was  not  a  particle 
of  evidence  of  their  guilt:  indeed,  quite  the  contrary;  and  they 
were  men  of  good  character,  industrious,  and  respectful." 

Again  from  the  same  :  — 

"  James  Leroy  was  hanged  by  the  Ku-Klux  on  Tuesday  night, 
his  tongue  being  first  cut  out,  and  put  in  his  pocket.  He  was  accused 
of  having  slandered  a  white  woman.  The  truth  is,  he  was  an  inde- 
pendent colored  man  (though  nearly  as  white  as  you  or  I),Avho  could 
read  and  write,  and  was  consequently  troublesome  on  election-day, 
by  preventing  fraud  upon  his  fellows." 

Another :  — 

"  The  K.  K.  K.  paraded  in  this  town  last  night.  There  were 
about  two  hundred  of  them,  all  disguised,  as  well  as  their  horses. 
They  fired  six  shots  into  my  house.  Fortunately  no  one  was  there. 
"We  had  news  of  their  coming  a  little  before  their  arrival,  and  I  had 
time  to  get  my  family  out  into  the  corn-field  south  of  the  house. 
My  wife  and  the  servants  took  the  children  along  the  corn-rows  to 
the  woods.  I  staid  in  the  corn  near  the  house  with  my  gun,  deter- 
mined to  kill  some  one  if  they  attempted  to  tire  the  house,  as  I  sup- 
posed they  would.  My  family  staid  in  the  woods  all  night.  They 
tried  to  get  hold  of  some  of  our  prominent  colored  friends,  but  they 
also  had  escaped.  They  went  into  Allen  Gordon's  house,  and,  find- 
ing him  gone,  beat  and  abused  his  wife  and  family  shockingly,  and 
took  his  bed-cord  out  of  the  bed,  saying  they  were  going  to  hang 
John  Cliavis,  who  fired  at  them  when  they  were  here  before.  They 
went  to  Chavis's  house.  He  was  seen  to  leave  a  little  while  before, 
and  it  is  hoped  they  missed  him ;  but  nothing  has  been  seen  of  him 
since.    He  may  have  gone  clean  off,  but  it  is  not  like  him  to  do  so." 

Here  is  one  from  our  old  friend,  Dr.  Garnett :  — 

"My  dear  Fkiend,  —  It  seems  that  it  is  even  worse  to  be  a 
*  native  '  here,  '  and  to  the  manner  born,'  if  one  presumes  to  disagree 
with  his  neighbors,  than  to  be  a  '  carpet-bagger,'  such  as  you  are 


174  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

called;  for  the  evil  of  which  I  lately  warned  you  has  befallen  me, 
Night  before  last  the  Ku-Klux  came.  I  had  never  believed  they 
would  attack  me;  but  I  had  not  neglected  making  some  simple  and 
obvious  precautions  for  such  a  contingency.  You  know  my  house 
is  a  perfect  blockhouse  anyhow.  It  was  first  made  of  hewed  logs, 
closely  chinked,  and  afterwards  weather-boarded,  and  ceiled  with 
inch  lumber  on  the  inside.  Since  the  K.  K.  K.  came  in  vogue,  I  had 
put  heavy  wooden  bars  across  the  doors,  and  added  heavy  insidp 
shutters  of  inch  boards  to  the  windows,  with  little  loo^vholes  at  the 
side  in  case  of  attack.  It  was  a  bright  night,  not  moonlight,  but 
starry,  I  had  been  out  late;  and,  after  getting  supper,  we  were 
having  family  prayers  before  retiring.  ^Vo  always  lock  every  thing 
about  the  house  at  dark.  My  wife  and  daughter  Louisa  were  all 
that  were  at  home  with  me.  During  the  praj-er,  my  wife,  who  was 
kneeling  nearest  the  front-door,  came  over,  and,  touching  me  on  the 
shoulder,  said,  '  T\iqj  have  come! ' 

"I  knew  to  whom  she  referred  at  once;  and,  adding  one  brief 
petition  for  help,  I  closed  my  prayer.  There  were  evident  sounds  of 
footsteps  crowding  the  little  front-porch  by  that  time.  Then  there 
came  a  rap  on  the  door,  and  a  demand  that  it  be  opened.  This  I  re- 
fused to  do,  ordered  them  to  leave  my  premises,  and  warned  them 
that  they  remained  at  their  peril.  I  gave  my  wife  and  daughter  each 
a  revolver.  They  are  both  delicate  women,  as  you  know;  but  they 
have  learned  to  handle  fire-arms  for  just  such  an  occasion,  and  they 
did  not  quail.  By  this  time  those  outside  were  assailing  both  the 
front  and  back  doors.  I  looked  out  at  one  of  my  little  port-holes,  and 
could  see  them  standing  about  the  porch.  A  good  many  shots  were 
fired  also  at  the  doors  and  windows.  I  thought  I  ought  not  to  wait 
any  longer;  and  so,  with  a  pvayer  for  myself  and  for  my  enemies  out- 
side, I  put  my  gun  to  the  port-hole,  glanced  along  it,  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  There  was  a  shriek,  a  groan,  and  a  hurrying  of  feet  away 
from  the  door.  When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  I  thought  I  could  see 
one  of  those  cloaked  and  hooded  forms  h'ing  across  the  path  befQj'e 
the  house.  I  dared  not  go  out  to  proffer  aid  or  bring  him  in,  lest  the 
others  should  be  in  ambush,  and  fall  upon  me.  My  sight  is  not  first- 
rate;  but  Louisa  said  slie  could  see  them  lurking  about  the  fence  and 
bnshes  before  the  house.  After  tins  the  attack  seemed  to  cease.  I 
was  on  the  alert,  however,  believing  them  to  be  as  ruthless  and  reck- 
less as  wild  Indians  on  the  war-path.  Presently,  watching  to- 
wards the  front,  I  saw  two  figures  come  softly  and  cautiously  up  the 
road,  and  after  a  time  into  the  yard.  They  stole  along  froai  tree  to 
slu'ub  like  murderous  red-skins,  and  I  was  about  to  fire  on  them, 
when  they  stopped  at  the  body  lying  across  the  path.     They  con- 


A   BUNDLE   OF  DRY  STICKS.  175 

suited  ti  moment,  evidently  examining  the  body;  then  one  went  off, 
and  led  a  horse  up  to  the  gate.  They  lifted  up  thc^  hody,  taking  it 
between  them  to  the  horse,  and  with  no  little  difficulty  placed  it 
across  the  saddle,  and  lashed  it  around  the  horse;  then  they  rode 
off,  and,  as  they  passed  up  the  hill  by  the  Widow  Johnson's,  we  could 
hear  that  there  were  a  good  many.  AVe  kept  watch  until  morning, 
but  neither  saw  nor  heard  any  thing  more  of  them.  As  soon  as  it 
was  good  light,  I  went  out  and  examined  the  path.  There  was  a 
great  pool  of  blood,  which  had  also  dripped  along  the  path  to  the 
gate,  and  beyond  that  in  the  road.  Getting  on  my  horse,  and  taking 
my  gun,  I  followed  the  trail  of  blood  until  it  crossed  the  Little 
Kocky  River,  after  which  I  lost  it. 

"I  have  strong  suspicious  as  to  who  were  in  the  party.  To-day 
there  was  a  funeral  down  in  the  Fork,  of  a  man  who  was  kicked  by  a 
mule  yesterday  mornin'j.  The  undertaker  who  buried  him  said  he 
was  already  laid  out  when  he  came  to  the  house,  and  some  men  who 
were  there  insisted  on  putting  him  in  the  coffin.  When  the  under- 
taker was  putting  the  cover  down,  however,  he  got  a  chance  to  put 
his  hand  down  on  the  head  of  the  corpse.  He  says,  if  that  man  was 
killed  b\'  a  mule,  it  must  have  been  a  remarkably  tall  one.  It  seems 
impossible;  yet  I  can  not  but  suspect  that  this  man  was  the  leader, 
and  that  he  died  by  my  hand.  Strange  as  it  seems  now,  I  have  often 
met  him  at  the  Lord's  table.  He  was  a  very  active  member  of  the 
church,  and  was  a  superintendent  of  a  sabbath  school. 

"  I  have  even  a  stranger  fact  to  record.  You  remember  my 
daughter's  hair  was  a  soft  light  brown.  It  was  so  the  night  of  the 
attack.  In  the  morning  it  was  streaked  with  gray,  and  now  it  is 
almost  as  silvery  as  mine.  She  is  but  twenty-three.  Ah!  these  vil- 
lains have  a  terrible  sight  of  crime  and  agony  to  answer  for.  I  hear 
they  are  raiding  all  about  the  country,  whipping  and  mutilating 
without  restraint.  Can  nothing  be  done  ?  Is  our  government  so 
weak  that  it  can  not  protect  its  citizens  at  home  ? 

"  Yours, 
"  George  D.  Garxett." 

Bat  why  give  extracts  from  letters  showiiig-  the  horror  of  that 
time  V  Here  is  a  document  which  shows  more  conclusively 
than  a  thousand  letters  could  its  abounding  terrors,  because  the 
testimony  is  unconscious  and  unwitting.  It  is  a  letter  from  the 
governor  of  the  State,  addressed  to  Colonel  Comfort  Servosse. 
It  seems  the  latter  had  an  appointment  to  visit  the  town  of 

P in  a  neighboring  county,  j:)erhaps  on  some  public  duty,- 

and  the  chief  Executive  wrote  thus  to  him :  — 


176  A    FOOrS  ERR  AX  D. 

"Dear  Sir,  — I  must  beg  that  you  will  not  go  to  P on  next 

Monday.  Your  life  has  been  threatened  in  the  most  open  and  defi- 
ant manner.  Our  friends  have  been  warned,  and  they  implore  me 
to  induce  j'ou  not  to  hazard  j'our  life  by  so  doing.  As  you  know,  I 
can  give  you  no  protection,  but  feel  it  my  duty  to  give  you  this 
warning,  and  hope  it  may  not  come  too  late. 

"  Yours  truly, 

«t 

"  Governor^ 

The  Fool  was  not  one  of  those  who  could  be  advised  :  so  he 
wrote,  in  answer  to  this  letter,  — 
"  To ,  Governor. 

"  3fy  dear  Sir,  —  I  have  received  very  many  warnings  of  a  simi- 
lar nature  to  yours  in  regard  to  going  to  P .     I  have  no  doubt 

but  that  there  is  a  settled  purpose  to  execute  the  threat  too;  but,  as 
my  duty  calls  me  there  at  that  time,  I  shall  go,  and  leave  the  result 
with  Him  who  presides  over  our  destinies. 

"  Yours  gratefullj-, 

"  Comfort  Servosse." 

So  he  went,  and  by  some  good  fortune  came   safely  home 
again,  very  greatly  to  his  own  amazement. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FOOTING    UP    THE    LEDGER. 

One  morning  in  the  early  winter,  Squire  Hyman  came  to 
Warrington  at  a  most  unusual  hour.  Comfort  and  his  family 
were  just  sitting  down  to  their  early  breakfast  when  he  was 
announced.  The  servant  stated  that  he  had  declined  to  join 
in  the  meal,  but  had  taken  a  seat  by  the  sitting-room  fire. 
Lily,  who  was  a  prime  favorite  with  the  old  man,  went  at  once 
to  persuade  him  to  come  and  breakfast  with  them.  She  re- 
turned with  the  unexpected  visitor,  but  no  persuasions  could 
induce  liim  to  partake  with  them.  lie  seemed  very  much 
disturbed,  and  said,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  chimney-corner, — 


FOC^VNG.    UP   THE  LEDGER.  177 

"No,  I  thank  you  kindly.  I  just  came  over  to  have  a  little 
chat,  and  perhaps  get  a  little  neighborly  advice,  if  so  be  the 
colonel  would  be  good  enough  to  give  it." 

"I  hope  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  you  at  home,"  said 
Servosse,  with  real  anxiety ;  for  the  old  man  seemed  greatly 
disturbed. 

"I'm  afraid,  Colonel,"  he  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "that 
there's  a  good  deal  of  wrong,  a  good  deal,  —  a  heap  more  and 
a  heap  worse  than  I  had  ever  counted  on." 

"  Why,  no  one  sick,  I  hope  ?  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  Xo,  not  sick  exactly,"  w^as  the  reply;  "  worse'n  that.  The 
truth  is,  Colonel,  the  Ku-Klux  took  out  my  boy  Jesse  last 
night,  and  beat  him  nigh  about  to  death." 

"  Shocking !  You  don't  say  !  "  burst  from  his  listeners.  The 
meal  was  abandoned  ;  and,  gathering  near  the  old  man,  they 
listened  to  his  story. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "Jesse  had  been  into  to^Ti  yesterday, 
and  came  home  late  last  night.  So  far  as  I  can  learn,  it  must 
have  been  nine  o'clock  or  so  when  he  started  out:  at  least, 
'twan't  far  from  twelve  o'clock  when  he  came  through  the  little 
piece  of  timber  on  the  far  side  of  my  house  (you  know  the 
place  well,  Colonel,  and  j^ou  too,  Madam;  for  you  have  ridden 
by  it  often,  —  just  in  the  hollow,  this  side  the  blacksmith's 
shop),  when  all  at  once  a  crowd  of  men  burst  out  of  the  woods 
and  bushes,  all  hidden  with  masks  and  gowns,  and  after  some 
parley  took  him  into  the  woods,  tied  him  to  a  tree,  and  beat 
him  horribly  with  hickories.  Jesse  said  he  hadn't  no  chance 
to  fight  at  all.  They  were  all  on  him  almost  afore  he  knew  it. 
He  did  kick  about  a  little,  and  managed  to  pull  the  mask  off 
from  one  fellow's  face.  This  seemed  to  make  them  madder 
than  ever,  though  they  needn't  have  been;  for  he  says  he  didn't 
know  the  man  from  Adam,  even  when  he  saw  his  face.  How- 
ever, that  didn't  make  no  difference.  They  took  him  out 
and  whipped  him,  because  they  said  he  was  a  'nigger-loving 
Radical.' " 

"  Poor  fellow !  Is  he  seriously  injured  V  "  asked  Comfort  in 
alarm. 


178  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that,  Colonel,"  answered  Hyman,  "and 
it  don't  much  matter.  He's  been  Nvhipped,  and  it  could  not  be 
worse  if  he  were  dead.  Indeed,"  continued  the  old  man  as  he 
gazed  sadly  into  the  fire,  "I  would  rather  know  that  he  was 
dead.  He'd  better  be  dead  than  be  so  disgraced !  Did  you 
ever  know,  Colonel,  that  the  Supreme  Court  of  this  State  once 
decided  that  whipping  was  worse  than  hanging?  " 

"  Xo,"  said  Comfort,  ''I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"They  did,  though,"  said  the  old  squire.  "I  don't  recollect 
the  precise»case ;  but  you  will  find  it  in  our  reports,  if  you  care 
to  look  for  it.  You  see  the  Legislature  had  changed  the  pun- 
ishment for  some  crime  from  hanging  to  whipping,  and  had 
repealed  the  old  law.  The  result  was,  that  some  fellow,  who 
was  afterwards  convicted  of  an  oifense  committed  before  the 
passage  of  the  act,  appealed  on  the  ground  that  whipping  was  an 
aggravation  of  the  death-penalty,  and  the  Court  held  with  him. 
They  were  right  too,  —  just  right.  I'd  a  heap  rather  my  poor 
Jesse  was  dead  than  to  think  of  him  lying  there,  and  mourning 
and  groaning  in  his  shame.  If  it  had  been  openly  done,  it 
v\ould  not  have  been  so  bad;  then  he  could  have  killed  the 
man  who  did  it,  or  been  killed  in  the  attempt  to  get  a  gentle- 
man's revenge.  But  to  be  whipped  like  a  dog,  and  not  even 
know  who  did  it;  to  think  that  the  very  one  who  comes  to 
sympathize  as  a  friend  may  be  one  of  the  crowd  that  did  it, — 
oh  1  it  is  too  much,  too  much  !  " 

'•  Indeed,"  said  the  Fool,  with  an  awkward  attempt  at  con- 
solation, "it  is  too  bad  ;  but  you  must  console  yourself,  Squire, 
with  the  reflection  that  your  son  has  never  done  any  thing 
to  deserve  such  treatment  at  his  neighbor's  hands." 

"  That's  the  worst  part  on't,  Colonel,"  said  the  old  man  hotly. 
"  He's  a  good  boy,  Jesse  is,  an'  he  always  has  been  a  good  boy. 
1  don't  say  it  'cause  he's  mine,  nor  'cause  he's  the  only  one 
that's  left,  but  because  it's  true;  and  everybody  knows  it's 
true.  He's  never  been  wild  nor  dissipated,  —  not  given  to 
drinkin'  nor  frolickin'.  He  was  nothin'  but  a  boy  when  the 
war  came  on ;  but  when  my  older  boy,  Phil,  —  the  same  as  was 
killed  at  Gettysburg,  —  went  away,  Jesse  took  hold  as  steady 


FOOTING    UP   THE  LEDGER.  179 

and  regular  as  an  old  man  to  help  rae  on  the  plantation.  You 
know  I'm  gittm'  old,  and  hain't  been  able  to  git  about  much 
this  many  a  year,  so  as  to  look  alter  the  hands,  an'  keep  things 
a-goin'  as  they  ought  to  be.  Well,  boy  as  he  was,  Jesse  raised 
two  as  good  crops  as  we've  had  on  the  plantation  in  a  long 
time.  Tlien  when  they  called  for  the  Junior  Reserves,  toward 
the  last  of  the  war,  he  went  and  'listed  in  the  regular  army 
'bout  Richmond,  and  took  his  share  of  the  fightin'  from  that 
on.  An'  when  it  was  over,  an'  the  niggers  free,  an'  all  that, 
he  didn't  stop  to  dawdle  round,  and  cuss  about  it,  but  went 
right  to  work,  hired  our  old  niggers,  —  every  one  of  whom 
would  lay  down  his  life  for  Jesse,  —  an'  just  said  to  me,  'Xow, 
Dad,  don't  you  have  any  trouble.  You  just  sit  quiet,  an'  smoke 
yer  pipe,  an'  poke  'round  occasionally  to  see  that  things  is 
goin'  right  round  the  house  an'  barn-lot,  an'  keep  Ma  from 
grievin'  about  Phil,  and  I'll  run  the  plantation.'  An'  when  I 
told  him  how^  bad  off  I  was,  owin'  for  some  of  the  niggers  that 
was  now  free,  and  a  right  smart  of  security-debts  beside,  and 
the  State-script  and  bank-stock  worth  almost  nothin',  he  didn't 
wdnce  nor  falter,  but  just  said,  '  You  just  be  easy.  Pa.  I'll 
take  care  of  them  things.  You  just  keep  Ma's  spirits  up,  and 
ril  look  out  for  the  rest.' 

"  You  know  how  that  boy's  worked.  Colonel,  early  and  late, 
year  after  year,  as  if  he  had  nothing  to  look  forward  to  in  life 
only  payin'  his  old  father's  debts,  and  makin'  of  us  com- 
fortable. He  never  meddled  with  nobody  else's  business,  but 
just  stuck  to  his  own  all  the  time,  —  all  the  time!  An'  then  to 
think  he  should  be  whipped,  by  our  own  folks  too,  just  like  a 
nigger !  —  and  all  because  he  was  a  Radical ! 

"  Spose  he  was  a  Radical,  Colonel :  hadn't  he  a  right  to  be? 
You're  a  Radical,  ain't  ye  ?  and  a  Carpet-bagger  too  '?  Have 
they  any  right  to  take  you  out  an'  whip  you?  I  reckon  you 
don't  think  so ;  but  it's  a  heap  worse  to  mistreat  one  of  our 
own  folks,  —  one  that  fought  for  the  South,  and  not  agin  her. 
Don't  ye  think  so,  Colonel  ? 

"  Well,  it's  natural  you  shouldn't  see  the  difference ;  but  I  do. 
S'pose  he  icas  a  Radical  ?     He  didn't  have  nothing  to  say  about 


180  ^         A  FOOL'S  ERRAND, 

it,  —  j  List  went  an'  voted  on  'lection-day,  and  come  home  again. 
Are  they  goin'  to  whip  men,  an'  ruin  them,  for  that  ?  1 
declare,  Colonel,  I'm  an  old  man,  and  a  man  of  peace  too,  and 
a  magistrate ;  but  I  swear  to  God,  if  I  knew  who  it  was  that  had 
done  this  business,  I'd  let  him  know  I  could  send  a  load  of 
buckshot  home  yet :  damned  if  I  wouldn't  ! 

''  Beg  pardon.  Madam,"  he  continued,  as  he  remembered 
Metta's  presence;  "but  you  must  allow  for  the  feelings  of  a 
father.  I'm  not  often  betrayed  into  such  rudeness,  Madam,  — 
not  often. 

"  But  Colonel,"  he  went  on  meditatively,  "  do  you  know  I 
don't  think  that  was  more  than  half  the  reason  the  Ku-Klux 
beat  Jesse  ?  " 

"  No  ?  "  said  the  Fool.  "  What  else  had  he  done  to  awaken 
their  animosity  ?  " 

"  He's  been  your  friend,  Colonel,  —  always  your  friend ;  and 
he  thinks,  and  I  think  too,  that  what  he's  been  made  to  suffer 
has  been  more  on  your  account  than  his  own.  You  know 
they've  been  a-threateuin'  and  warniu'  you  for  some  time,  and 
you  haven't  paid  no  heed  to  it.  When  they  rode  off  last  night, 
they  told  Jesse  he  might  tell  his  '  damned  Radical  Yankee 
friend  Servosse  that  they  were  comin'  for  him  next  time.' 

"Jesse's  mighty  troubled  about  it,  for  he  thinks  a  heap  of 
you  all ;  and  he  wanted  me  to  come  right  over  here,  and  let  you 
know,  so  that,  bein'  forewarned,  you  might  be  fore-armed." 

"  Poor  fellow  ! "  said  the  Fool.  "  It  was  very  kind  and 
thoughtful  of  him.  It  is  altogether  too  bad  that  any  one 
should  suffer  merely  for  being  my  friend." 

"  Well,  you  know  how  our  people  are,  Colonel,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  the  impulses  of  a  life  still  strong  upon  him  to  make 
excuse  for  that  people  whose  thought  he  had  always  indorsed 
hitherto,  and  whose  acts  he  had  always  excused,  if  he  could 
not  altogether  approve,  —  "you  know  how  they  are.  They 
can't  stand  nobody  else  meddlin'  with  their  institutions  ;  and 
your  ideas  are  so  radical !  I  shouldn't  have  wondered  if  it  had 
been  you,  —  candidly.  Colonel,  I  shouldn't,  —  but  that  they 
should  do  so  to  my  boy,  one  that's  native  here,  of  good  famili^ 


FOOTING   UP   THE  LEDGER.  181 

(if  I  do  say  it),  and  that  never  troubled  nobody,  —  it's  too 
bad,  too  bad  !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  1 "  said  the  Fool.  "And  I  must  go  and  see  him 
at  once.  I  don't  suppose  I  can  do  him  any  good,  but  I  must 
let  him  know  how  I  sympathize  with  him." 

"  That  brings  me  around  to  the  rest  of  my  errand,"  said  the 
old  man.  "I  am  so  upsot  by  this  thing,  that  I  like  to  have 
clean  forgotten  it.  He  'llowed  you'd  be  comin'  to  see  him  as 
soon  as  you  heard  of  it,  and  he  wanted  me  to  tell  you  that  he 
couldn't  see  anybody  now  (not  while  he's  in  this  condition, 
you  know)  ;  but  he  —  he  wanted  I  should  say  to  you  —  say 
to  you,"  he  repeated,  with  the  tears  running  over  his  face, 
"that  he  was  goin'  to  Injianny  to-night,  and  he  would  be  glad 
if  you  could  give  him  some  letters  to  any  friends  you  may  have 
in  the  West.  You  know  he  can't  stay  here  any  more  (not 
after  this)  ;  and  he  thought  it  might  be  well  enough  to  have 
some  introduction,  so  as  not  to  be  exactly  goin'  among  strangers, 
you  know." 

"  He  will  take  the  train  at  Verdenton,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Fool. 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  so,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  He  hain't 
made  no  arrangements  yet,  an'  it'll  be  a  hard  thing  for  him  to 
ride  there  in  his  condition." 

"  Has  he  any  particular  point  to  which  he  wishes  to  go  ?  " 

"None  at  all  —  just  to  get  away,  you  know:  that's  all  he 
goes  for." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Fool  thoughtfully ;  then,  after  a  moment,  he 
continued  decisively,  "  See  here.  Squire !  You  tell  the  boy  not 
to  trouble  himself  about  the  matter,  but  keep  quiet,  and  I  will 
arrange  it  for  him.  He  must  not  think  of  going  to-night,  but 
you  may  give  out  that  he  has  gone.  I  will  come  for  him 
to-night,  and  bring  him  here ;  and  after  a  time  he  can  go  West, 
and  find  himself  among  friends." 

This  arrangement  was  carried  out,  almost  against  the  will 
of  the  one  most  concerned ;  and  it  was  under  the  roof  of  the 
"  carpet-bagger "  that  the  outraged  "  native  "  found  refuge 
before  he  fled  from  the  savage  displeasure  of  the  people  who 
could  not  suffer  him  to  differ  with  them  in  opinion. 


182  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

In  his  behalf  the  Fool  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Keverend  Theophi- 
lus  Jones,  detailing  to  him  the  event  which  this  chapter  narrates, 
and  the  condition  of  the  young  man  at  that  time.  To  this 
letter  he  received  the  following  reply  :  — 

"Wedgeworth,  Kan. 

My  DEAR  Sib, — Your  very  interesting  letter  has  awakened  strange 
raemories.  It  is  only  twelve  years  ago  that  Brother  James  Stiles  and 
myself  were  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  a  gospel  service  at  a  place 
called  Flat  Rock  by  a  mob,  which  was  said  to  have  been  put  upon 
our  track  by  your  neighbor  Nathaniel  Hyman,  because  we  ]ireached 
the  word  of  God  as  it  had  been  delivered  unto  us,  and  denounced 
the  sin  of  slavery  according  to  the  light  that  was  given  us. 

We  were  sorely  beaten  with  many  stripes  ;  but  we  continued 
instant  in  prayer  for  them  who  did  despitefuUy  use  us,  calling  out 
to  each  other  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and,  even  in  the  midst  of  their 
scourging,  praying,  in  the  words  of  the  blessed  Saviour  on  the 
cross, — 

"Father,  forgive  them;  for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 

When  they  loosed  our  bonds,  we  gave  thanks  that  we  were  per- 
mitted to  bear  testimony  to  the  truth,  even  with  our  blood,  and 
went  on  our  Avay  rejoicing,  tarrying  not  in  those  coasts,  however, 
since  we  perceived  that  this  people  were  joined  to  their  idols,  and 
given  up  to  sin.  We  said  unto  our  persecutors,  in  the  words  of  the 
apostle,  "  The  Lord  reward  thee  accordiivj  to  thy  icorks.'" 

Verily,  the  Lord  hath  heard  the  cry  of  his  servants,  and  hath  not 
forgotten  their  stripes.  My  heart  was  hushed  with  holy  awe  when  I 
read  in  your  letter  that  the  son  of  this  man,  who  caused  vs  to  be 
scourged,  had  suffered  a  like  chastisement  at  the  hands  of  wicked 
men  — perhaps  the  very  hands  by  which  we  were  smitten  aforetime. 
Through  all  these  years  the  God  of  Sabaoth  hath  not  forgotten  our 
cry,  nor  to  reward  the  evil-doers  according  to  their  works."  Well 
may  we  exclaim,  as  we  look  back  at  these  intervening  years  of  won- 
der-working events,  "  A\'hat  hath  God  wrought !  "  As  the  a\  ar  went 
on,  and  I  saw  the  bulwarks  of  slavery  crumbling  away,  until  tinally 
the  light  of  freedom  shone  upon  the  slave,  I  rejoiced  at  the  wonder- 
ful power  of  God,  who  wrought  out  the  ends  of  his  glory  through 
the  instrumentality  of  human  passion  and  human  greed.  How  it 
reproached  our  weak  muriunrings  and  want  of  faith!  Who  could 
have  believed  that  all  the  evils  which  slavery  was  for  so  many  years 
piling  up  as  a  sin-offering  in  mockery  of  the  ISIost  High  and  his 
mandates,  —  the  blood,  the  tears,  the  groans,  and  wo(?s  of  God's 
Stricken  and  crying  peoxdc,  —  were  so  soon   to  become  the  forces 


FOOTING    UP   THE  LEDGER.  183 

which  shouhl  destroy  the  oppressor,  root  and  branch!  Ah!  if  tliat 
grand  old  St.  John  of  this  new  dispensation  of  liberty  — John  Crown 
—  could  have  foreseen  this  in  the  hour  of  his  ignominious  death! 
But  perhaps  he  did  see  it,  and  the  sting  of  death  was  removed  by  the 
beatific  vision. 

Nothing  of  it  all,  however,  has  so  humbled  and  terrified  me  as 
this  immediate  and  fearful  retribution  visited  on  one  of  my  persecu- 
tors. God  knows  I  had  never  entertained  feelings  of  malice  or 
revenge  towards  them.  I  have  never  forgotten  to  pray  for  these,  my 
enemies,  as  we  are  commanded  to  do  in  the  canon  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture; but  I  had  never  thought  to  see  the  hand  of  God  thus  visibly 
stretched  forth  to  avenge  my  wrongs.  The  very  thought  has 
humbled  me  more  than  I  can  express,  and  I  have  been  moved  to 
ask  m3-self  whether  this  occasion  does  open  to  me  a  way  of  duty 
which  is  in  strictest  harmony  with  the  dictates  of  our  holy  religion. 
The  young  man  who  has  suffered  for  his  father's  sin,  and  of  whom 
you  speak  so  highly,  you  say  desires  to  escape  from  what  he  con- 
siders his  shame,  though  it  ought  to  be  deemed  his  glory.  Why  not 
let  him  come  hither,  my  friend,  —for  as  such  I  can  not  but  esteem 
you  henceforth,  —  and  let  me  thank  the  good  Father  by  succoring 
the  son  of  him  who  persecuted  me  ?  Gladly,  humbly,  will  I  perform 
this  duty  as  an  act  of  jjraise  and  thanksgiving  to  Him  who  ruleth 
and  over-ruleth  all  things  to  his  glory.  Faithfully,  as  He  was  faith- 
ful to  me,  would  I  perform  such  trust,  tenderly  and  humbly,  so  that 
the  young  man  should  never  know  whose  hand  was  extended  to  do 
him  kindness.  Please  to  consider  this  suggestion,  and,  if  it  accord 
with  your  views,  send  him  to  me,  assured  that  I  will  intermit  no 
effort  in  his  behalf. 

I  am  in  truth,  ' 

Thy  servant  and  brother  in  the  Lord, 

Theophilus  Joxes. 


The  Fool  knew  that  the  fanatic  was  in  serious  earnest,  and 
that,  despite  his  ready  assumption  of  the  divine  act  as  having 
been  performed  in  his  individual  behalf,  there  was  a  sort  of 
chivalric  devotion  to  what  he  deemed  duty  and  religion,  which 
would  make  him  untiring  in  the  performance  of  his  self-im- 
posed trust.  So  the  castigated  son  of  the  old  squire  went  to 
the  free  West  to  begin  life  anew  under  the  protection  and 
patronage  of  the  man  whose  back  was  striped  at  his  father's 
instigation,  in  the  good  old  days  "  befo'  the  wah." 


184  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A     THRICE-TOLD    TALE. 


The  newspapers  told  it  first. 
The  Dunhoro'  Herald  of  May  17,  18—,  said,  — 
"  The  good  people  of  Rockford  County  met  in  convention 
at  the  court-house  to-day,  to  nominate  candidates  for  county 
offices,  and  to  discuss  the  political  situation.  Since  the  military 
usurpation  took  away  from  the  people  the  right  of  self-govern- 
ment, and  made  them  subservient  to  the  will  of  the  degraded 
Radical  niggers,  and  the  ijifamous  scalawags  and  Carpet-bag- 
gers who  unite  with  and  lead  them,  the  honest  people  of  Rock- 
ford  have  had  no  voice  in  her  government.  They  have  now 
concluded  that  the  time  has  come  when  they  will  make  one 
more  effort  to  control  their  own  affairs.  They  met  to-day  as 
one  man,  and  listened  to  the  burning  words  of  such  soul-stirring 
orators  as  General  De  Bang,  Honorable  John  Snortout,  and 
Colonel  Whiteheat,  until  it  was  evident,  from  their  wild  enthu- 
siasm, that  the  white  people  of  Rockford  intend  to  rule  her 
affairs  again.  There  was  a  rumor,  just  as  our  informant  left, 
of  some  trouble  or  difficulty  in  connection  with  John  Walters, 
the  notorious  Rockford  Radical.  We  did  not  learn  wliat  it 
was,  and  do  not  care.  The  worst  thing  that  could  occur  to 
him  would  be  the  best  thing  for  the  rest  of  the  county." 

The  Moccason  Gap  Rattler  (published  the  next  day)  said, — 
"We  learn,  that,  after  the  meeting  at  Rockford  Court- Ho  use 
yesterday,  there  was  considerable  excitement  among  the  colored 
population  over  the  disappearance  of  their  great  leader,  the  in- 
famous Walters.  It  seems  that  he  had  the  cheek  to  attend  the 
meeting,  and  sat  taking  notes  of  the  speeches  during  the  whole 
time.     His  presence  caused  considerable  remark  ;  for,  although 


A    TIIRICE-TOLD    TALE.  185 

it  was  a  public  meeting,  it  was  not  supposed  that  he  would 
have  the  impudence  to  show  himself  among  decent  white  people, 
after  joining  the  niggers  to  insult,  oppress,  and  degrade  them. 
It  is  said  that  the  speakers,  especially  the  Honorable  John 
Snortout,  alluded  to  him  in  terms  which  he  richly  deserves. 
It  became  noised  through  the  meeting  that  he  was  taking  notes 
of  the  speeches  for  the  purpose  of  having  troops  sent  to  Rock- 
ford.  It  is  even  said  that  inquiry  was  made  of  him  as  to  his 
object  in  taking  notes ;  to  which  he  impudently  responded  that 
his  purpose  was  known  to  himself,  which  was  quite  sufficient. 
After  the  meeting  adjourned,  it  seems  he  could  not  be  found  ; 
and  a  great  outcry  was  raised  among  the  niggers  on  account  of 
his  disappearance.  Search  was  immediately  instituted ;  and 
all  the  niggers  of  the  town,  as  well  as  hundreds  from  the 
adjoining  country,  came  pouring  in,  surrounding  the  court- 
house, and  clamoring  for  the  keys.  They  were  very  much 
excited,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  their  leader  had 
been  murdered  by  the  gentlemen  at  the  meeting.  This  infa- 
mous charge  against  some  four  or  five  hundred  of  the  best  men 
of  Rockford  was  borne  with  exemplary  patience  by  that  law- 
abiding  people.  The  meeting  quietly  dispersed,  and  the 
niggers  continued  their  search.  It  is  believed  that  Walters 
has  taken  himself  off  at  this  time  for  the  purpose  of  producing 
an  impression  that  he  has  been  murdered,  and  thereby  having 
troops  sent  to  that  county  to  influence  the  coming  election. 
No  trace  of  him  had  been  found  at  last  accounts." 

The  Ringjield  Swashbuckler  (two  days  afterwards)  said,  — 
"The  niggers  of  Rockford  are  in  tribulation,  but  the  white 
people  of  the  good  old  county  will  sleep  easier.  It  appears, 
that,  after  the  adjournment  of  the  mass  meeting  held  by  the 
good  people  of  that  county  at  the  court-house  on  the  17th  inst., 
Walters,  the  infamous  scalawag  leader  of  the  nigger  Radicals, 
•who  have  ruled  the  county  since  the  military  usurpation,  could 
not  be  found.  He  was  supposed  to  have  been  in  attendance  on 
the  meeting  as  a  spy  upon  its  action ;  but  several  of  the  most 
respectable  citizens  say  that  he  left  a  considerable  time  before 
its  close.     At  once,  upon  its  becoming  known  that  he  was  miss- 


186  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

ing,  there  was  great  excitement  among  the  niggers ;  and  when, 
towards  morning,  his  body  was  found  in  one  of  the  offices  upon 
the  lower  floor  of  the  court-house,  there  was  great  apprehension 
for  a  time  that  the  town  would  be  burned  by  the  infuriated 
blacks.  The  manner  of  his  death  is  a  mystery.  It  is  generally 
believed  that  some  of  the  leading  negroes,  who  have  for  some 
time  been  growing  restive  under  his  dictatorship,  waylaid  him 
as  he  came  down  from  the  meeting,  killed  him,  put  his  body  in 
this  room,  and  then  raised  an  alarm  over  his  disappearance, 
hoping  thereby  at  once  to  get  rid  of  a  troublesome  leader,  and 
produce  the  impression  that  he  w^as  murdered  by  his  opponents, 
aiid  for  political  effect.  Of  course  such  a  claim  is  too  ridiculous 
to  be  entertained  for  a  moment.  We  learn  that  an  inquest  was 
held,  but  nothing  was  elicited  to  cast  any  light  upon  the 
mystery." 

The  Verdenton  Gazette,  in  its  next  issue,  remarked,  — 
"  The  death  of  that  infamous  Radical,  Walters  of  Rockford 
County,  is  making  a  great  excitement.  The  Radicals  pretend 
to  believe  that  he  was  killed  by  the  Democrats,  who  had  been 
holding  a  nominating  convention  in  the  court-house  that 
afternoon.  It  is  far  more  probable,  indeed  some  circumstances 
which  have  since  come  to  light,  render  it  almost  certain,  that 
his  death  was  procured  by  certain  of  his  Radical  associates. 
The  Carpet-baggers  and  scalawags  who  run  that  party  are  fully 
aware  of  the  fate  which  awaits  them  on  election-day,  unless 
I  something  can  be  done  to  fire  the  negro  heart,  and  bring  troops 
into  the  State.  It  is  therefore  generally  believed  that  this  kill- 
ing of  Walters  was  a  cold-blooded  assassination  planned  by 
the  Radicals  at  the  Capital,  and  executed  by  their  minions. 
It  is  even  asserted  that  ^Morton  was  heard  to  declare,  not  many 
days  ago,  that  we  would  '  hear  h— 11  from  the  South  in  less 
than  a  week.'  In  addition  to  this,  it  is  said  that  a  very 
reputable  man,  residing  in  the  western  part  of  that  county, 
declares  that  he  saw  Colonel  Tom  Kelly,  the  chairman  of  the 
Radical  committee  for  this  district,  driving  rapidly  away  from 
Rockford  very  soon  after  four  o'clock  on  that  evening,  —  about 
the  time  the  murder  must  have  been  committed.     Perhaps  Mr. 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  187 

Tom  Kelly  will  now  rise  and  explain  what  he  was  doing  in 
Rockford  at  that  time." 

T/ie  Central  Keynote  (published  a  week  afterwards)  said, — 
"  Whether  the  Radical  bummer  Walters  was  killed  by  some 
of  his  nigger  understrappers,  by  some  of  his  Carpet-bag  scala- 
wag associates  who  were  jealous  of  his  power,  by  his  own 
relatives,  or  by  some  paramour  of  his  wife  who  was  anxious  that, 
she  should  obtain  the  large  amount  of  insurance  which  he 
had  upon  his  life,  we  do  not  know.  But  one  thing  we  do 
know,  that  the  State  is  well  rid  of  a  miserable,  unprincipled 
Radical  and  infamous  scoundrel,  who  ought  to  have  been  a 
Carpet-bagger,  but,  we  are  sorry  to  admit,  was  a  native.  We 
sincerely  trust  that  the  State  at  large  may  share  the  good 
fortune  of  the  county  of  Rockford  very  soon,  and  be  equally 
well  rid  of  his  Radical  associates." 

The  National  Trumpet,  which  was  the  Radical  organ  for 
the  State,  very  naturally  gave  a  different  version  of  the  affair, 
denounced  it  as  a  most  outrageous  political  murder,  and  in- 
veighed most  bitterly  against  what  it  termed  the  inhuman 
barbarity  of  the  opposition  journals,  which,  not  content  with 
the  death  of  Walters,  sought  to  slay  his  good  name  by  slan- 
derous imputation,  and  to  blast  the  reputation  of  the  stricken 
widow  with  baseless  hints  of  complicity  in  his  death.  It  pro- 
nounced him  "a  faithful  husband,  a  tender  father,  and  a 
stanch  friend,  —  one  who  from  obscure  parentage  had  raised 
himself  through  poverty  and  ignorance  to  competence;  had 
aided  orphan  brothers  and  sisters,  supported  a  widowed 
mother,  and  maintained  a  good  Christian  character  until 
expelled  from  his  church  on  account  of  his  political  opinions. 
His  courage  and  organizing  ability  were  unquestioned,  and 
under  his  lead  it  was  well  known  that  nothing  could  prevent 
the  County  of  Rockford  from  continuing  to  give  overwhelming 
Radical  majorities.  John  Walters  was  guilty  of  this  offence, 
no  more!  And  for  this  he  was  killed!  He  gave  up  his  life 
for  the  rights  of  the  people  —  the  right  of  equal  manhood- 
suffrage —  as  clearly  as  any  soldier  who  fell  upon  the  battle- 
field died  for  liberty  !     The  time  will   come  when  his  name 


188  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

will  be  remembered  by  a  grateful  people  as  that  of  a  martyr 
of  their  freedom." 

So  the  act  passed  into  current  history;  and  the  great  journals 
of  the  Korth  recorded  with  much  minuteness,  and  with  appro- 
priate head-lines  and  display,  the  fact  that  John  Walters,  a 
man  of  infamous  character,  and  a  prominent  politician,  and 
leader  of  the  negroes  in  Rockford  County,  was  killed  by 
stabbing  and  strangling.  By  whom  the  crime  was  committed 
was  by  no  means  clear,  they  said,  nor  yet  the  motive;  but 
one  thing  seemed  to  be  well  established,  —  that  it  was  not 
done  from  any  political  incentive  whatever.  It  was  true  he 
was  a  leading  Radical  politician  in  a  county  having  a  decided 
colored  majority,  which  was  made  effective  almost  solely  by 
his  organizing  power;  but  it  was  certain  that  only  personal 
feeling  of  some  sort  or  another  was  at  the  bottom  of  this 
murder. 

Thus  it  first  came  to  the  Fool's  ears.  He  had  known  the 
man,  not  intimately,  but  well,  having  seen  him  often  since 
their  meeting  at  the  League,  and  had  grown  into  a  sincere  regard 
for  him.  He  knew  of  his  energy  and  daring,  knew  of  his  own 
premonitions  as  to  his  fate,  and  the  coolness  with  which  he 
had  prepared  himself  to  meet  it.  But  the  Fool  had  only  half 
believed  that  it  would  come,  —  at  least  not  so  soon  or  suddenly, 
nor  in  a  form  so  honible,  nor  with  such  ghastly  accompani- 
ment of  post  mortem  barbarity.  It  was  strange  how  unreason- 
ing he  was  in  his  sorrowful  anger.  He  would  not  hear  a  word 
as  to  any  other  hypothesis  of  his  friend's  death,  except  that  it 
was  a  political  murder,  coolly  planned,  and  executed  with  the 
assent  of  the  entire  meeting  of  respectable  men  who  were 
passing  patriotic  resolutions  above  the  scene  of  its  perpetration. 
It  was  very  unreasonable,  but  perhaps  not  unnatural,  that  he 
should  do  so. 

II. 

Upon  the  second  day  after  this  unfortunate  occurrence,  there 
came  to  the  Fool's  house  one  who  had  been  an  eye-and-ear 
witness  of  all  that  had  occurred  in  Kockford  on  that  occasion, 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  189 

except  the  tragic  act  which  has  been  once  already  narrated. 
This  man  said, — 

"  I  was  with  John  Walters  when  he  went  to  the  meeting,  and 
went  up  and  sat  with  him  for  a  short  time.  I  had  tried  to 
dissuade  him  from  going  there  at  all.  There  had  been  a  good 
deal  of  excitement  in  the  county  for  some  time.  The  Ku-KIux 
had  been  riding  about,  and  his  life  had  been  threatened  a 
good  many  times.  Only  a  few  days  before,  a  crowd  of  them 
had  come,  and,  after  riding  about  the  town,  had  left  at  his 
house  a  coffin,  with  a  notice  stuck  on  to  it  with  a  knife.  He 
knew  he  was  in  great  danger,  and  told  me  repeatedly  that  he 
thought  they  would  get  him  before  it  was  over.  On  this  day 
he  was  heavily  armed,  and  very  foolishly  carried  with  him  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  which  he  had  received  the  day 
before,  and  intended  to  bring  here  and  put  in  bank  the  next 
day.  He  had  been  very  careful  about  showing  himself  upon 
the  street  for  some  time,  especially  after  dark.  I  don't 
suppose  he  had  been  out  after  sundown  in  six  months.  He 
said  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  this  meeting  for 
two  reasons,  —  first,  to  let  them  know  that  he  was  not  afraid 
to  do  so;*  and,  second,  that  he  might  know  what  course  the 
opposition  intended  to  pursue  in  the  coming  campaign. 

"  There  was  a  very  full  attendance  at  the  meeting,  and  when 
Walters  came  in  there  were  a  heap  of  sour  looks  cast  at  him. 
He  sat  down,  took  out  his  book,  and  began  taking  notes.  The 
speakers  turned  on  him  the  worst  abuse  you  ever  heard,  Colo- 
nel ;  but  he  just  smiled  that  quiet,  scornful  smile  of  his,  and 
went  on  taking  his  notes  as  if  no  one  was  near  him.  By  and 
by  it  got  so  hot  that  I  thought  we  had  better  get  out  of  there. 
I  told  him  so  in  a  whisper:  but  he  just  looked  up,  and  said  I 
could  go ;  he  should  stay  till  it  was  over.  He  wanted  to  see 
some  parties  there  who  had  made  some  proposition  to  him 
about  a  compromise-ticket  for  county  officers.  He  was  greatly 
in  favor  of  this;  for,  although  we  had  a  large  majority  in  the 
county,  we  had  really  only  one  or  two  candidates  competent 
to  fill  the  county  offices.  It  was  by  his  advice,  that,  at  the 
election  before,  our  folks  had  supported  the  Democratic  candi- 


190  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

date  for  sheriff  and  other  county-officers.  He  said  it  would 
never  do  to  put  ignorant  and  incompetent  men  in  such  places. 
Pie  was  greatly  troubled  about  his  own  lack  of  education,  and 
studied  hard  to  make  it  up.  I've  often  heard  him  mourn  his 
lack  of  early  advantages.  I  think  it  was  the  only  thing  that 
used  to  make  him  right-down  mad.  He  used  to  say  that  was 
what  every  poor  man  owed  to  slavery;  and  he  appeared  to 
think  that  institution  had  done  him  as  much  harm,  and  he  had 
as  good  a  right  to  hate  it,  as  if  he  had  been  a  nigger.  He 
could  read  pretty  peart,  but  writing  always  come  hard  to  him. 

"  I  heard  him  one  time  talking  about  his  little  gal,  who  was 
just  beginning  to  learn  to  read.  He  said  he  was  determined 
she  should  have  what  he  missed  because  he  happened  to  be 
a  poor  man's  son  in  a  slave  country ;  and  that  was  an  educa- 
tion. Oh  !  he  was  very  bitter  in  his  denunciation  of  the  slave- 
holding  aristocracy,  and  would  persist  in  declaring  that  they 
had  starved  the  souls  of  the  poor  people,  and  kept  them  from 
the  tree  of  knowledge,  just  to  promote  their  own  selfish  aims, 
and  enhance  their  own  wealth.  It's  the  only  thing  I've  ever 
heard  John  Walters  grow  eloquent  upon  (you  know  he  was 
a  man  of  few  words) ;  but  I've  heard  him  sometimes  on  the 
stump  when  he  seemed  to  get  out  of  himself,  and  be  another 
man,  in  the  wild  eloquence  with  which  he  urged  the  need  of 
education,  and  deplored  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
robbed  of  its  privileges  and  advantages.  I  remember  he  said 
once,  that  he  never  asked  grace  before  meat  at  his  own  table, 
nor  conducted  family  worship  in  his  own  house,  as  he  did  every 
day,  without  feeling  ashamed  of  the  ignorance  which  hung 
like  a  millstone  about  his  neck.  He  thought  that  even  his 
little  eight-year-old  must  be  ashamed  of  her  papa's  blunders. 

"  I  thought  of  all  these  things  while  the  speakers  were  abus- 
ing him,  and  the  people  were  turning  towards  him  with  black 
looks  and  threatening  gestures,  and  wondered  what  would  come 
of  it  all.  When  it  got  too  hot  for  me,  I  left,  and  went  back  to 
his  house.  His  wife  was  taking  on  terribly.  She  is  not  a 
very  strong  woman,  but  she  thought  a  heap  of  John.  She 
asked  me  all   about  what  he  was  doing  at  the  meeting,  and 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  191 

then  took  on  worse  than  ever.  She  pointed  to  their  two 
children  who  were  playing  on  the  lawn  back  of  the  house, 
and  said,  'Poor  things,  poor  things!  They'll  be  fatherless 
and  alone  pretty  soon.  Why  won't  John  quit  this  foolish 
fight  for  what  will  do  him  no  good,  get  away  from  here,  and 
go  West,  where  he  and  his  children  can  have  "  a  white  man's 
chance"?  Why  won't  he  listen  to  me?'  She  kept  on  crying 
and  mourning,  and  begged  me  to  speak  to  John  about  it  if  he 
ever  came  home. 

"I  tried  to  comfort  her;  and  we  sat  by  the  door,  the  little 
children  playing  on  the  green  slope  before  us,  until  the  meet- 
ing was  over,  and  the  people  began  to  pass  by  on  their  way 
homeward.  I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Walters  seemed  very  restless, 
and  every  now  and  then  looked  anxiously  over  toward  the 
court-house.  Finally  she  called  to  some  colored  men  who 
were  passing,  and  asked  if  the  meeting  was  over.  They  told 
her  it  was ;  and  she  then  asked  if  they  had  seen  her  husband 
since  it  closed;  and,  when  they  said  they  had  not,  she  threw 
up  her  hands,  and  moaned,  and  cried,  '  They've  killed  him ! 
They've  killed  him!  I  knew  it!  Oh,  my  God!'  and  just 
kept  taking  on  terribly. 

'•  I  went  over  into  the  town  at  once,  and  began  to  make  in- 
quiries. None  of  our  friends  had  seen  him;  but,  as  soon  as 
they  found  I  was  inquiring  for  him,  several  of  the  white  peo- 
ple kindly  volunteered  information  in  regard  to  him.  This 
one  had  seen  him  in  this  place,  and  another  in  that,  and  an- 
other remembered  hearing  a  third  man  speak  of  having  seen 
him  in  still  a  different  direction ;  and  all  about  the  same  time. 
This  disagreement  of  the  reports  which  were  made,  as  well  as 
the  fact  that  none  of  the  colored  people  had  seen  him  (though 
there  were  many  more  of  them,  and  each  felt  a  peculiar  in- 
terest in  him,  so  that  they  would  be  more  likely  to  notice  and 
remark  his  presence  than  the  others),  strengthened  a  dim 
suspicion  that  had  been  growing  in  the  minds  of  all ;  so  that, 
instead  of  waiting  to  go  to  the  points  indicated  to  ascertain 
their  truth,  the  report  went  out  at  once  that  he  was  missing  — 
had  been  killed. 


192  A   FOOUS  ERRAND, 

"I  never  knew  before  what  a  hold  he  had  on  the  colored 
people.  Every  one  seemed  as  distressed  as  if  he  had  lost  a 
brother.  Men,  women,  and  children  crowded  into  the  streets. 
Moans  and  imprecations  were  about  equally  mingled  in  the 
surging  crowds  who  hurried  toward  the  court-house.  From 
the  first  moment  there  was  no  question  as  to  his  death.  It 
was  assumed  as  a  fact ;  and  the  conclusion  was  at  once  arrived 
at,  that  his  body  was  concealed  somewhere  about  the  court- 
house. Strangely  enough  the  fragments  of  the  crowd  who 
had  been  in  attendance  on  the  meeting  gathered  quietly  about 
one  or  two  of  the  stores,  talked  with  each  other  in  low  tones, 
offered  neither  remonstrance,  aid,  nor  ridicule  of  the  search 
that  was  going  on,  and  finally  broke  away  by  twos  and  threes, 
silently  and  solemnly  to  their  homes.  Every  moment  the 
excitement  grew  more  intense  among  the  colored  people.  In 
an  incredibly  brief  time  the  crowd  had  swelled  from  a  couple 
of  dozen  to  as  many  hundred;  and,  in  an  hour  or  two,  more 
than  a  thousand  were  gathered.  The  white  people  of  the 
town  looked  on  gloomily  and  silently,  but  took  no  part  in  the 
search.  The  court-house  was  at  once  surrounded,  and  every 
room  examined  into  which  access  could  be  obtained ;  for  the 
keys  of  some  of  them  were  said  to  have  been  lost,  and  one 
especially,  it  was  claimed,  had  not  been  opened  for  many 
months.  All  trace  of  the  key  of  this  room  seemed  to  have 
been  lost  by  the  officials  in  whose  custody  the  law  presumed  it 
to  have  been.  Then  some  of  the  white  people  came  with  very 
positive  reports  that  Walters  had  been  seen  going  out  of  town 
towards  Dunboro',  where  it  was  known  that  he  intended  to  go 
oil  the  morrow.  Several  of  the  leading  citizens  came  out  at 
this  time,  and  endeavored  to  convince  the  colored  people  of 
the  folly  of  their  course.  The  Honorable  John  Snortout  was 
especially  active  in  this  endeavor.  They  might  as  well  have 
talked  to  the  wind.  The  colored  people  clung  to  their  hy- 
pothesis with  a  sort  of  blind  instinctive  conviction  of  its  truth, 
M-liich  nothing  could  move.  As  it  came  on  dark,  fires  were 
lighted,  and  a  regular  line  of  sentries  put  around  the  building. 
Meantime  attempts  were  made  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  interior 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  193 

of  the  rooms  of  which  they  could  obtain  no  keys,  by  peering 
through  the  closed  windows.  Clambering  from  one  window- 
ledge  to  another,  they  flashed  the  light  of  blazing  torches  into 
them,  but  in  vain.     Nothing  could  be  seen. 

"  And  so  the  night  dragged  on,  and  the  crowd  grew  hourly 
greater  with  accessions  from  the  country,  and  the  conviction 
grew  stronger  that  in  one  of  these  rooms  they  would  find  the 
nameless  horror  which  they  sought,  and  which  they  yet  would 
not  behold. 

"  Yet  this  half-barbarous  crowd  were  strangely  regardful  of 
law.  They  did  not  violate  anybody's  right.  Neither  locks 
nor  windows  were  broken.  They  sought  the  keys  far  and  near, 
but  they  did  no  violence.  They  were  sure  their  lost  leader 
was  within  —  dying  or  dead,  they  knew  not  which.  They  called 
him  by  name,  but  knew  he  could  not  answer.  None  slept  of 
the  colored  people  :  they  waited,  watched,  and  mourned. 

"  Just  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  light,  one  of  those  who  had 
been  most  active  and  assiduous  in  the  search  mounted  on  the 
shoulders  of  a  friend,  and  peered  into  the  window  of  the  most 
suspected  room  on  the  first  floor.  Shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  he  scanned  the  dim-lighted  interior,  and  was  about  to 
give  up  the  quest,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  something  mysterious 
and  appalling.  On  the  inside  of  the  window-ledge  he  saw  — 
a  single  drop  of  blood  !  Another  look,  and  he  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  the  well-known  hat  which  their  leader  had  been  wont 
to  wear. 

"'Here  he  is  —  in  there!'  he  shouted,  as  he  leaped  down, 
and  started  for  the  corridor.  They  had  no  longer  any  need  of 
key.  The  door  flew  apart  as  if  made  of  pasteboard,  before 
the  brawny  shoulders  that  pressed  against  it.  In  that  room 
they  found  their  worst  fears  confirmed.  There,  pressed  down 
into  a  box,  with  a  pile  of  firewood  heaped  upon  him,  a  stab  in 
his  throat,  and  a  hard  cord  drawn  taut  about  his  neck,  stark 
and  cold,  was  the  body  of  John  AValters  —  the  Radical  ! 
There  was  very  little  blood  in  the  room,  only  a  few  drops  on 
the  floor,  and  one  drop  on  the  window-sill !  The  stab  in  his 
throat  had  cut  the  artery.     Where  was  the  blood  ?     The  phy- 


194  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

sician  who  examined  the  body  said  he  must  have  bled  inter- 
nally." 

From  the  foregoing  narrative  it  was  evident  to  the  Fool  that 
between  three  and  five  o'clock  of  the  day  before,  while  the 
meeting  of  respectable  white  citizens  was  in  progress  in  the 
room  above,  John  Walters  had  either  been  killed  in  that  room, 
or  murdered  elsewhere,  and  brought  thither.  The  manner  of 
his  death  was  evident.  The  motive  was  not  doubtful,  since, 
strangely  enough,  this  "bad  man"  seems  to  have  had  no  per- 
sonal enemies.  In  some  mysterious  manner  the  universal  sen- 
timent of  execration  that  prevailed  against  him  in  the  commu- 
nity had  found  an  instrument ;  and  John  ^Valters,  the  Radical 
leader  of  Rockford,  had  met  the  doom  which  he  might  reasona- 
bly have  expected  when  he  presumed  to  organize  the  colored 
voters  of  that  county  in  opposition  to  the  wish  and  desire  of 
its  white  inhabitants. 

The  coroner's  jury,  after  a  tedious  examination  of  every 
person  that  could  be  found  who  would  be  likely,  on  ordinary 
principles,  to  know  nothing  whatever  of  the  matter,  returned 
that  the  death  was  "  caused  by  some  person  or  persons  un- 
known ;  "  which  verdict  was,  no  doubt,  in  strict  conformity 
with  the  evidence  taken. 

III. 

"  Kunnel,  dar's  a  man  h'yer  dat  wants  ter  tell  you  sumfin'. 
He  says  he  won't  tell  nobody  else  but  you,  widout  your  positive 
orders." 

The  speaker  was  old  Jerry.  He  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
Fool's  library  or  office,  and  had  with  him  a  colored  man,  whom 
he  introduced  as  Nat  Haskell.  This  man  had  one  of  those 
expressionless  faces,  which,  however,  bear  a  look  of  furtive 
observation,  so  characteristic  of  the  colored  man  who  has  been 
reared  under  the  influences  of  slavery. 

"  Well,"  said  Comfort,  "what  is  it?  " 

"Didn't  you  know  Mars'  John  Walter?  ''  asked  the  coloreo 
man  cautiously. 

"  Yes,  certainly !  "  answered  Comfort. 


A    THRICE-TOLD    TALE.  195 

"  An'  ain't  you  de  gemman  as  come  an'  tried  ter  find  out 
who  'twas  dat  killed  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Wal,  den,  you's  de  one  I  want  ter  see,  an  dat's  what  I  want 
ter  see  ye  about." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  know  about  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  nothin' ;  but  I  done  heard  somefin'  that  may 
lead  you  to  fine  out  who  'tis.      Dat's  what  I  come  fer." 

"  Where  do  you  live  V  " 

"  I  lives  wid  ole  man  Billy  Barksdill,  'bout  five  miles  below 
Rockford  Court-House ;  that  is,  I  did  live  dar.  I  hain't  no 
notion  o'  goiu'  back  dar  any  mo'." 

"  Were  you  in  Rockford  that  day  ?  " 

"  No,  sah  !  " 

"Then  how  do  you  come  to  know  any  thing  about  the 
matter  ?  " 

"Wal,  yer  spe,  Kunnel,  I  was  wukkin'  fer  Mr.  Barksdill,  ez 
I  tole  ye;  an'  dat  night,  jest  arter  I  come  in  from  de  fiel',  he 
called  me  ter  come  an'  take  care  of  a  hoss.  I  know'd  dat  hoss 
right  well.  'Twas  a  gray  filly  dat  Mars'  Marcus  Thompson 
bed  rid  by  our  place  dat  mornin'.  Arter  I'd  put  the  critter 
away,  an'  fed  it,  1  went  inter  de  kitchen  ter  git  my  supper. 
I  sot  down  ter  de  table ;  an'  de  cook  —  dat's  Mariar,  my  ole 
'ooman — she  brings  me  my  supper,  an'  den  goes  back  inter  de 
dinin'-room  ter  wash  up  «le  dishes  de  white  folks  hed  been 
usin'.'  Presen'ly  she  coins  back  mighty  still  like,  an'  says, 
'  Nat,  come  h'yer,  qiwck  ! '     An'  wid  dat  she  starts  back  agin. 

"  '  Sh — !  take  off  yer  shoes,'  she  says,  half  whisperin',  ez  we 
git  ter  de  dinin'-room  do'. 

"  I  slips  outer  my  shoes,  an'  we  goes  in.  Der  wa'n't  no  light 
in  de  roomr  but  she  led  me  a-till  we  come  nigh  de  do'  a-twixt 
de  dinin'-room  an'  de  settin'-room.  Dar  we  stopped  an'  lis- 
tened, an'  I  could  hear  Mr.  Barksdill  an'  Mr.  :Marcus  Thomp- 
son talkin'  togeder  mighty  plain.  Cynthy  Rouse  — dat's 
anudder  servant-gal  —  she  was  dar  too,  a-crouchin'  down  by  de 
do',  dat  wasn't  shet  close;  but  dar  wa'n't  no  light  in  de  settin'- 
room,  but  de  fire.     When  I  come,  Cynthy  puts  her  hand  on  het 


196  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

'lips,  shakes  her  head,  an'  says,  '  H'sh ! '  an'  put  her  head  down 
to  listen  agin.  The  fust  words  /  heard  was  ole  Mr.  Barksdill, 
—  he's  sorter  half-def,  yer  knows,  —  a-sayin',  right  peart,  — 

"*It  must  a'  been  a  good  day's  work,  in  fact,  if  we've  got  rid 
o'  John  Walters  finally.  How  was  it  done?  I  did  hear  der 
was  some  notion  o'  sendin'  a  committee  from  de  meetin'  ter  tell 
hira  he  must  leave;  but  I  hadn't  no  notion  he'd  du  it.  He's 
pluck  to  de  back-bone,  John  Walters  is.  Whatever  else  he 
may  be,  we  must  allow,  Thompson,  dat  he  ain't  nobody's  fool 
nor  coward;  an'  I  'llowed,  dat,  ef  de  meetin'  should  do  dat, 
jest  ez  likely 's  not  some  o'  dat  committee  mout  git  hurt.  Ye 
didn't  try  dat,  I  reckon  ? ' 

"'No,'  answered  Mars'  Thompson,  'we  didn't  hev  no  need 
ter  du  dat.  De  brazen-faced  cuss  hed  the  impudence  ter  come 
ter  the  meetin'  hisself  ! ' 

" '  Dar  now,  you  don't  tell  me ! '  sed  old  man  Barksdill. 
'  Wal,  now,  what  was  I  sajdn'  ?  —  he's  pluck.' 

" '  Yes ;  and  he  sot  dar  as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  a-takin'  notes 
ob  ail  dat  went  on,'  says  ]\Ir.  Thompson. 

"  '  You  don't!     Wal,  I  declar ! '  sez  the  ole  man. 

'"Yes :  de  damned  fool  hadn't  a  bit  more  sense  dan  to  show 
his  head  dar,  when  we'd  met  most  a-purpose  to  fine  a  way  to 
get  rid  of  him.     He  mout  'a'  knowed  what  would  come  on't.' 

"'Wal,  M"hat  did?  I  s'pose  de  people  was  pretty  hot,  an* 
perhaps  dar  was  smart  of  a  row.' 

" '  Not  a  bit,  Mr.  Barksdill!  Jest  de  quietest  affair  you  ever 
heard  on.  De  fac'  is,  some  one  on  us  hed  made  an  appintment 
wid  Walters,  ter  see  him'  bout  what  we  called  a  fusion  ticket 
we  purtended  ez  we  wanted  ter  git  up.  So  some  on'  em  signi- 
fied to  him  dat  we  wanted  ter  see  him,  an'  we  got  him  down 
inter  the  old  County  Clerk's  office,  an'  shet  de  do'.  Dar  was 
ten  on  us,  an'  he  seed  de  game  we  was  up  to  in  a  second ;  but 
he  didn't  even  wince. 

"'  "Well,  gentlemen,"  sez  he,  ez  cool  ez  if  he'd  been  settin' 
over  on  his  own  porch,  which  we  could  see  ez  plain  ez  day 
from  de  winder,  "what  d'ye  want  o'  me?  Der  seems  tu  be 
enough  on  ye  ter  du  ez  you've  a  mine  tor  :  so  I  mout  ez  well  ask 
yer  will  an'  pleasure."  ' 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  '       197 

" '  Law  sakes  ! '  sez  de  ole  man ;  '  but  dat  wuz  monstrous 
cool.' 

" '  Cool  ?  I  should  tink  it  was,  ez  cool  es  hell,'  sez  t'oder  one. 
*  Den  some  on  'em  took  out  a  paper  dat  hed  been  drawed  up 
aforehand  fer  him  ter  sign,  an'  handed  it  over  tu  him.  He 
read  it  over  kinder  slow  like,  an',  when  he  got  f rough,  handed 
it  back,  an'  sed,  "I  can't  sign  dat  paper,  gentlemen." ' 

'"AMiatwas  de  paper?' 

"  'Xoffin,  only  jest  a  statement  dat  he,  as  leader  ob  de  Radi- 
cal party  in  dis  county,  hed  been  de  gitter-up  ob  all  de  devil- 
ment done  here  in  de  last  two  or  free  years,  includin'  de 
burnin'  o'  Hunt's  barn  ;  an'  dat  he  done  dese  tings  under  de 
direction  ob  de  Radical  leaders  at  de  capital.  We  tole  him, 
ef  he'd  sign  dis,  an'  agree  tu  leab  de  State  in  ten  days,  we'd 
let  him  off  safe  an'  sound.' 

"  '  An'  he  wouldn't  do  it?  '  bust  in  de  ole  man. 

" '  Do  it  V  Hell  I  He  sed  we  mout  kill  him,  but  we  couldn't 
make  him  sign  no  sech  paper  ez  dat.  Dat  made  de  boys  mad. 
You  know,  we  didn't  want  ter  kill  him,  dough  we  hed  no  notion 
ob  backin'  out  after  goin'  dat  far:  in  fac',  we  couldn't.' 

" '  Ko  mo'  you  couldn't,  I  should  say,'  put  in  Mars'  Barks- 
dill. 

" '  Ob  course  not !  an'  I  fought  fer  a  minit  de  boys  would 
jest  hack  an'  tear  him  to  pieces,  dey  was  so  mad.  I  tried  ter 
pacify  'em,  an'  persuade  him  to  sign  de  paper,  an'  not  force  us 
to  sech  extremes ;  but  he  wouldn't  hear  tu  me,  an'  fust  I 
know'd,  he  hed  ju'^ed  back  an'  pulled  out  a  pistol.  De  low- 
down,  ornary  cuss!  Ef  it  hadn't  been  fer  Buck  Hoyt,  M'ho 
caught  his  arm,  an'  Jim  Bradshaw,  dat  whipped  a  slip-noose 
over  his  neck,  an'  pulled  him  back,  der's  no  knowin'  what  he 
might  'a'  done  wid  dat  ten-shooter  o'  his.' 

"  'He's  a  nasty  hand  wid  shootin'-irons,'  sed  the  ole  man. 

*' '  Wal,'  says  Thompson,  '  dey  got  him  down,  an'  frottled 
him,  an'  tuk  de  pistol  away  from  him,  an'  every  ting  he  had  in 
the  weepon  line.  Den  dey  let  him  up,  an'  all  agreed  dat  sech 
a  pestiferous,  lyin',  deceitful  cuss  ought  ter  be  killed.  We  told 
him  so,  an'  dat  he  could  hev  jest  five  minutes  ter  git  ready  in 


198  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

He  didn't  never  flinch,  but  jest  sed,  "I  s'pose  I  ken  be  allowed 
ter  pray."  An',  widont  waitin'  fer  an  answer,  he  jes'  kneeled 
down,  an'  prayed  fer  all  his  frien's  an'  neighbors,  an'  fer  each 
one  ob  us  too.  Dis  prayin'  fer  vs  wuz  gittin'  a  little  tu  damn 
pussonal :  so  Jim  Bradshaw,  dat  held  de  cord,  gin  it  a  jerk,  an' 
tole  him  we  didn't  want  no  more  o'  dat.  Den  he  got  up,  an' 
i  axed  him  ef  der  wuz  any  ting  else  he  wanted  ter  do  or  say 
afore  he  died.  You  see,  I  fought  he  might  like  ter  make  some 
'rangement  'bout  his  property  or  his  family,  an'  I  wanted  to 
gib  him  a  white  man's  chance.' 

"  '  Ob  co'se,  ob  co'se,'  said  Mars'  Barksdill,  '  an'  very  proper 
an'  considerate  of  ye,  tu.' 

"'I  fought  so,  certain,'  said  Thompson.  'Wal,  he  axed  us 
to  let  him  look  out  o'  de  winder,  at  his  childern  playin'  on  de 
slope  o*  de  hill  over  by  his  house.  Dar  was  some  o'  de  boys 
didn't  want  to  do  dat,  but  I  persuaded  'em  to  let  him.  His 
hands  was  tied,  an'  de  cord  was  'roun'  his  neck,  so't  he  couldn't 
git  away  nohow.  De  lower  sash  hed  been  raised ;  but  we  had 
some  two  or  three  fellows  standin'  outside  anyhow.  So  we 
led  him  to  de  winder,  an'  he  looked  at  his  two  gals  a  smart 
while.  I  declar'  it  come  hard  to  see  de  tears  a-standin'  in  his 
eyes,  an'  know  what  was  waitin'  fer  him ;  but  it  couldn't  be 
helped  den.  An',  jest  while  1  was  tinkin'  ub  dis,  he  made 
a  spring,  and,  wid  all  dat  agin  him,  managed  to  git  his  left 
leg  ober  de  winder-sill,  an'  I'm  not  at  all  sure't  he  wouldn't 
'a'  wriggled  hisself  out  entirely,  ef  Jack  Cannon  hadn't  'a' 
gathered  a  stick  of  wood,  an'  dropped  it  over  his  leg  till  it 
straightened  out  ez  limp  ez  a  rag.  We  pulled  him  back  in, 
an'  frew  him  on  de  long  table  dat's  in  de  room.  He  jest  give 
one  groan  when  he  seed  all  was  over.  It  was  de  fust  an'  last. 
Der  wasn't  no  use  tryin'  ter  hold  de  boys  back  no  longer. 
Jim  Brad  he  drew  de  cord  till  it  fairly  cut  inter  de  flesh.  Den 
dey  turned  him  half  over,  all  on  us  holdin'  his  arms  an'  legs, 
an'   Jack  Cannon  stuck  a  knife  inter  his  throat.^     He  bled 

'  This  account  of  an  incredible  barbarity  is  based  on  the  sworn  statement  of 
a  colored  person  who  overheard  just  such  an  account,  given  of  just  such  a  per- 
formance, by  one  of  the  actors  in  it.  It  is  too  horrid  to  print,  but  too  true  to 
omit. 


A    THRICE-TOLD   TALE.  199 

like  a  hog ;  but  we  caught  de  blood  in  a  bucket,  an'  arterwards 
let  it  down  out  o'  de  winder  in  a  bag  to  de  fellers  outside; 
so't  der  wa'n't  a  drop  o'  blood,  nor  any  mark  ub  the  squabble, 
in  de  room.  We  stowed  him  away  in  de  wood-box,  an',  arter 
it  comes  on  good  an'  dark,  de  boys  are  goin'  to  take  him  ober, 
an'  stow  him  away  under  dat  damned  nigger  schoolhouse  o' 
his;  an'  den  you  see  we'll  claim  de  niggers  done  it,  an'  perhaps 
hev  some  on  'em  up,  an'  try  'em  for  it.' 

"  *  Good  Lord  ! '  sed  ole  man  Barksdill  arter  a  minit.  '  So 
he's  dead ! ' 

"  *  Dead  ! '  said  Thompson  wid  a  queer  laugh.  '  You  may 
count  on  dat,  —  ez  dead  ez  Julius  Caesar !  De  county's  well 
rid  o'  de  wust  man  dat  was  ebber  in  it.' 

" '  Yes,  yes ! '  said  de  ole  man,  '  a  bad  fellow,  no  doubt, 
mighty  bad;  dough  I  dunno  ez  he  ever  doife  any  ting  so  very 
bad,  except  hold  political  meetin's  wid  de  niggers,  an'  put  all 
sorts  o'  crazy  notions  in  der  heads,  makin'  'em  lazy,  an'  no 
'count,  an'  impudent  to  white  folks.' 

" '  An'  ain't  dat  'nough  ?  '  said  Thompson. 

"'Oh,  ob  co'se  !'  Mars'  Barksdill  said:  'dat's  mighty  bad, 
—  but  arter  all '  — 

"  '  Well,  what  ?  '  said  Mars'  Thompson,  kinder  hot  like. 

"'  Oh,  well,  nofSn' !  —  dat  is,  noffin'  to  speak  of.  I  was  no 
friend  o'  John  Walters ;  but  I  would  'a'  felt  better  ef  he'd  been 
killed  in  a  fa'r  fight,  an'  not  shut  up  like  a  wolf  in  a  trap,  an' 
killed  in —  in  '  — 

"'In  cold  blood,  I  s'pose  you  mean,'  put  in  Thompson 
quick  and  husky ;  f er  he  was  a-gittin'  mad. 

" '  Wal,  yes,  it  does  look  so,'  said  ole  Mars',  kinder  'pologizin' 
like. 

" '  Ob  co'se,'  said  Thompson,  'it'll  do  fer  you  ter  set  dar  an' 
fine  fault  wid  what's  done.  Here  de  whole  county's  been 
wishin'  somebody  M^ould  rid  'em  ub  John  Walters  fer  two 
years  an'  mo'.  Everybody's  been  a-cussin'  an'  bilin',  an'  tellin' 
what  ought  ter  be  done ;  an',  now  dat  some  on  us  hez  hed  the 
pluck  ter  go  in  an'  du  the  very  ting  ye've  all  been  talkin'  on, 
ye  Stan'  back,  an'  draw  on  an  affidavy  face,  an'  say  yer  sorry 


200  A  FOOrS  ERRAND. 

it's  done.  It's  damned  encouragin'  to  dem  dat  takes  de  risk ! 
Perhaps  de  next  fing  you  doll  be  tu  go  an'  tell  on  us.' 

"  De  ole  man  wouldn't  stan'  dat.  We  heard  him  rise  up,  an' 
say,  mighty  grand  like,  — 

"  <  Mr.  Thompson  ! ' 

"Jest  then,  Cyuthy,  who's  a  mighty  excitable  gal,  an', 
besides  dat,  used  ter  live  with  Mrs.  Walters,  an'  so  knew  de 
one  dey'd  been  talkin'  on  right  well,  bust  out  a-sobbin'  an' 
a-moanin',  an'  w^e  hed  to  hold  a  hand  over  her  mouf,  an'  half 
tote  her  out  ob  de  room  ez  fast  ez  w^e  could.  I  heard  Mars' 
Thompson  say,  'Who's  in  dar?'  An'  den  Mars'  Barksdill  he 
lights  de  can'le,  an'  comes  an'  opens  de  dinin'-room  do';  but, 
Lor'  bress  ye  !  der  w'an't  nobody  in  dar  —  nobody  at  all." 

"  What  did  you  do  then  ?  " 

"Xuffin'  at  all.  Jest  waited,  an'  kep'  still.  Cynthy  an' 
'Riar  an'  me  w^e  talks  it  over  a  little,  an'  concluded  ez  w^e'd 
better  not  let  on  dat  we  knowed  any  fing  about  it.  So  when 
Bob  Watson  come  over  some  time  'fore  mornin',  an'  w'histled 
me  out,  an'  tole  me  dat  Mars'  Walters  was  a-missin',  an'  dat 
eberybody  ob  de  colored  folks  w^as  a-huntin'  for  him,  an'  de 
whole  town  jest  alive  an'  a-light  all  night,  I  didn't  say  noffin', 
only,  arter  a  while  I  turns  to  Bob  an'  I  says,  says  I,  — 

"  'Bob,  dey  won't  never  fine  him.'  An'  he  sez,  sez  he, '  Dat's 
my  notion  too.'  So  we  passed  de  time  o'  day,  an'  he  went 
home,  an'  I  turned  in  ter  sleep  agin." 

"  Have  you  ever  told  any  one  else  of  this?  "  asked  the  Fool. 

"Nary  one,"  was  the  reply.  "A  few  days  artervvards,  ole 
man  Barksdill  he  questioned  me  some,  an'  arter  dat  de  gals 
telled  me  dat  he  axed  dem  some  questions  'bout  what  we 
know'd  or  hed  heard  'bout  Mr.  Walters.  But  he  didn't  git  no 
satisfaction  outer  me,  dat's  shore,  an'  I  don't  reckon  he  did  out 
ob  de  gals,  How\somever,  'twan't  long  afore  he  an'  his  boys 
begun  ter  talk  right  smart  'bout  what  would  happen  ter  any 
nigger  ez  should  testify  agin  any  white  man  ez  havin'  any  fing 
to  do  along  o'  Mr.  Walters.  An'  finally  Mr.  Barksdill  he  tole 
me  —  an'  I  found  dat  he  tole  de  w^immen  too  —  dat  any  nigger 
dat  knowed  any  fing  'bout  dat  matter  would  be  a  heap  more 


THE  FOLLY  OF   WISDOM.  201 

likely  to  die  ob  ole  age  ef  he  lived  in  anudder  State.  Dis 
scart  de  gals  nigh  about  to  deaff,  an'  I  'llowed  dar  was  a  heap 
o'  sense  in  it  myself.  So  we  lit  out ;  an'  I  never  hinted  a  word 
about  it  afore,  only  to  Uncle  Jerry  h'yer,  an'  he  brought  me  to 
you,  sah." 

Upon  further  investigation,  Servosse  learned  seA-eral  facts 
strongly  confirmatory  of  this  strange  story,  the  details  of  which 
harmonized  with  wonderful  accuracy  with  all  the  known  facts 
of  the  bloody  deed.  The  men  named  as  the  associates  of 
Thompson,  it  appeared,  were  all  present  at  the  meeting.  Some 
of  them  had  before  been  suspected  of  complicity  in  the  act; 
while  others  had  not  been  thought  of  in  connection  with  it. 
They  were  all  of  good  families,  and  of  undoubted  respectabil- 
ity. The  two  women,  being  separately  examined,  confirmed, 
with  only  such  variation  as  rendered  their  accounts  still  more 
convincing,  the  story  which  has  been  given. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

THE    FOLLY   OF    WISDOM. 

UxcLE  Jerry  was  much  excited  by  the  narrative  which  he 
had  heard.  For  a  long  time  the  outrages  which  had  been  per- 
petrated upon  his  race  and  their  friends,  the  daily  tale  of  suffer- 
ing and  horror  which  came  to  his  ears,  had  been  working  on 
his  excitable  temperament,  until  it  needed  only  the  horrible  re- 
cital which  Nat  had  given,  to  destroy  entirely  his  self-control. 
During  its  repetition  he  had  uttered  numerous  ejaculations 
expressive  of  his  excitement;  and,  when  he  went  away  with  his 
friend,  he  was  in  a  sort  of  semi-unconscious  state,  his  wide-open 
eyes  full  of  a  strange  light,  and  muttering  brokenly  as  he  went 
along  the  road  to  his  own  house,  short  ejaculatory  remarks. 

"Lor'  God  ob  Isr'el !  "  "Lor',  Lor',  whar  is  yer  gone?" 
"Don't  ye  h'yer  de  cry  ob  de  pore  no  mo'?"  "Whar  is  de 
'venger  ob  blood  ?  " 


202  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND, 

These  and  many  similar  expressions  fell  from  his  lips  as  he 
wandered  about  his  garden  and  lot  that  evening.  To  Xat,  who 
had  returned  with  him,  and  was  his  guest,  he  said  but  little : 
he  seemed  absorbed  in  dreamy  thought.  Even  before  this 
time,  Uncle  Jerry  had  been  noted  for  his  openly-expressed 
defiance  of  the  Ku-Klux,  his  boldness  in  denouncing  them,  and 
the  persistency  with  which  he  urged  the  colored  men  of  his 
vicinity  to  organize,  and  resist  the  aggressions  of  that  bo;iy. 
In  this  he  had  been  partially  successful.  A  considerable  num- 
ber of  the  inhabitants  of  the  colored  suburb  had  armed  them- 
selves, had  appointed  a  leader  and  lieutenants,  and  agreed  upon 
signals,  on  hearing  which  all  were  to  rally  for  defense  at  cer- 
tain designated  points.  He  had  infused  into  his  duller-minded 
associates  the  firm  conviction  which  possessed  himself,  —  that 
it  was  better  to  die  in  resisting  such  oppression  than  to  live 
under  it.  He  had  an  idea  that  his  race  must,  in  a  sense, 
achieve  its  own  liberty,  establish  its  own  manhood,  by  a  stub- 
born resistance  to  aggression,  —  an  idea  which  it  is  altogether 
probable  would  have  been  the  correct  and  proper  one,  had  not 
the  odds  of  ignorance  and  prejudice  been  so  decidedly  against 
them. 

As  matters  stood,  however,  it  was  the  sheerest  folly.  When 
experience,  wealth,  and  intelligence  combine  against  ignorance, 
poverty,  and  inexperience,  resistance  is  useless.  Then  the 
appeal  to  arms  may  be  heroic ;  but  it  is  the  heroism  of  folly, 
the  faith — or  hope,  rather  —  of  the  fool. 

Nevertheless,  chiefly  through  Uncle  Jerry's  persuasions,  and 
because  of  his  prominence  and  acknowledged  leadership,  this 
spirit  had  gone  out  among  the  colored  men  of  the  county;. and 
a  determination  to  resist  and  retaliate  such  outrages  had  be- 
come general  among  them.  The  first  effect  of  this  determined 
stand  upon  their  part  seemed  to  have  been  to  prevent  the  repe- 
tition of  these  offenses.  For  several  weeks  no  one  had  been 
beaten  or  scourged  in  that  county,  and  the  impression  seemed 
to  gain  ground  that  there  would  be  no  more.  This  was  espe- 
cially strong  after  two  full  moons  had  passed  without  disturb- 
ance, since  it  was  at  those  seasons  that  the  disguised  horsemen 


THE  FOLLY  OF   WISDOM.  203 

were  particularly  active.  This  fact  h-ad  tended  strongly  to 
confirm  old  Jerry  in  his  theory  of  resistance,  and  at  the  same 
time  had  relaxed  the  vigilance  of  himself  and  his  neighbors. 
The  night  of  the  day  on  which  he  had  listened  to  the  recital 
given  by  Nat  was  the  time  for  the  regular  weekly  prayer-meet- 
ing at  the  schoolhouse.  Of  course  he  attended  ;  and,  as  it 
chanced,  there  were  several  white  men  also  in  attendance, — 
strangers,  it  seemed,  —  who  sat  in  the  back  part  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  seemed  to  be  making  light  of  the  exercises.  This 
was  an  indignity  which  always  aroused  the  strongest  feeling 
on  the  part  of  Uncle  Jerry.  To  such  he  was^accustomed  to 
say,  with  a  sweet-voiced  boldness,  — 

"  We's  allers  glad  ter  hab  de  white  folks  come  to  our  meet- 
in's,  an'  allers  tinks  it  may  do  us  good,  an'  dem  tu.  It  sartin 
can't  hurt  nobody  tu  be  prayed  fer ;  an'  we  prays  for  'em,  an' 
hopes  dey  prays  for  us,  an'  hopes  de  good  Lord'U  bress  us  all. 
But  when  white  folks  comes  an'  laughs  at  our  weak  praars,  — 
dat  hurts.  We  knows  we  ain't  lamed,  nor  great,  nor  perfic; 
but  we  tries  to  do  our  best.  An'  when  you  all  laughs  at  us,  we 
can't  help  tinkin'  dat  we  mout  'a'  done  better  ef  we  hadn't 
been  kep'  slaves  all  our  lives  by  you  uns." 

Few  could  continue  to  mock  after  this  reproof.  On  this 
occasion,  when  the  meeting  had  progressed  for  some  time, 
the  conduct  of  the  v/hite  visitors  became  very  annoying.  Two 
or  three  times,  it  was  noticed  that  Uncle  Jerry  raised  his  head, 
and  stretched  forward  his  hands  upon  his  staves,  as  if  he  would 
speak  ;  but  each  time,  upon  second  thought,  it  seemed,  he 
abandoned  the  idea.  Finally  it  could  be  endured  no  longer; 
and  he  arose,  and  walked  toward  them,  speaking  in  an  unusu- 
ally harsh  and  aggrieved  tone  as  he  did  so.  When  he  came 
within  two  or  three  steps  of  them,  he  took  both  stav-es  in  his 
left  hand,  raised  the  right,  with  the  finger  pointing  toward 
them  as  steady  as  a  rifle-barrel,  and  became  at  once  rigid  and 
silent.  At  first  the  mockers  attempted  ridicule ;  but  the  pale, 
still  face,  and  fixed,  staring  eyes,  as  well  as  the  awe-stricken 
hush  of  the  colored  portion  of  the  congregation,  soon  reduced 
them  to  silence.     When  at  length  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and 


204  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

he  poured  forth  one  of  his  wonderful  rhapsodies,  a  mortal 
terror  seemed  to  take  hold  upon  his  hearers,  and  they  sat 
listening  to  his  burning  words,  while  he  told  the  story  of  the 
Ku-Klux,  and  ended  his  horrible  portraiture  with  a  detailed 
statement  of  the  manner  in  which  John  Walters  had  been 
killed,  giving  the  names  of  those  engaged,  and  the  part  taken 
by  each  in  the  bloody  deed.  He  painted  as  by  magic  the 
scene  of  the  murder,  and  gave  the  very  tone  and  manner  of 
each  of  those  engaged  in  it,  though  he  had  never  seen  them. 
Before  the  recital  was  ended,  there  was  a  shriek  from  one  of 
the  white  men.  as  he  rose,  and  staggered  toward  the  door. 
Then  the  others  followed  after  him,  and  silently  left  the  house. 

When  the  "spell"  was  over,  and  Uncle  Jerry  was  lying 
back,  panting  and  moaning,  in  his  seat,  Nat  came  to  him,  and 
broke  out,  —  "  Fo'  God,  Uncle  Jerry,  what  ye  mean  ?  ' 

"  What's  de  matter,  Brudder  Nat  ?  What  I  done  ?  Hurt 
your  feelin',  Brudder?     Bress  God,  I  hope  not!  " 

"  Hurt  my  feelin 's  ?  No  !  "  said  Nat.  "  You'se  not  likely  to 
do  dat,  Bre'r  Jerry.  But,  Lor'  bress  us !  d'you  kno'  one  o'  dem 
ar  men  waz  nobody  else  but  Jim  Bradshaw !  " 

"  De  Lord's  will  be  done !  He's  done  use  his  pore  sahvent 
for  his  glory,  wedder  he  will  or  no.  Bress  de  Lor' ! "  said 
Uncle  Jerry,  with  a  look  of  resignation. 

"Dat's  all  right,  Bre'r  Jerry;  but  I  feel  jes'  ez  ef  I  could 
tn^st  de  Lor'  a  heap  better  ef  I  wuz  'cross  de  line,  an'  out  o' 
de  State :  so  I  bids  you  good-by,  Uncle  Jerry  !  I'se  gwine  ter 
cut  outen  h'yer,  shore." 

The  news  of  this  terrible  revelation  soon  spread  far  and. 
wide  among  the  colored  people,  and  there  was  great  apprehen- 
sion on  account  of  it.  Uncle  Jerry  alone  did  not  seem  to  be 
disturbed  or  alarmed.  Since  this  last  display  of  his  strange 
peculiarity,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  apprehension,  and  all 
feeling  of  annoyance  or  trouble,  as  to  the  future  of  himself  or 
his  race. 

"  De  Lord's  will  be  done,"  he  said,  with  entire  composure, 
whenever  the  matter  was  mentioned  to  him.  "He  knows 
what's  best,  an'  he's  made  dis  pore  sahvent  see  dat  he  knows. 


THE  FOLLY  OF   WISDOM.  205 

Bress  his  holy  name !  He  brings  de  good  out  ob  evil,  an' 
cber-rules  de  bad.  He's  been  wid  de  pore  culled  man  in  de 
six  troubles,  an'  he  not  gwine  ter  desart  him  in  de  sebenth! 
Uncle  Jerry '11  jes'  try  an'  wait  on  de  Lor',  so  dat  when  he  call 
fer  me,  I  jes'  answers,  '  H'yer,  Lor' ! '  widdout  waitiu'  ter  ax 
eny  questions  'bout  his  business." 

So  the  days  went  on  until  a  week  from  the  Saturday  night 
■which  followed  his  denunciation  of  the  slayers  of  Walters  at 
the  meeting,  and  there  had  been  no  disturbance.  On  that 
night  the  little  suburban  village  sank  to  its  usual  repose,  after 
the  labors  and  cares  which  Saturday  night  ^.imposes  upon 
people  of  low  degree.  The  bacon  and  meal  for  the  next  week 
had  been  purchased,  the  clothes  for  the  morrow  put  in  order, 
and  preparations  made  for  that  Sunday  dinner  which  the 
poorest  colored  family  manages  to  make  a  little  better  than  the 
week-day  meal.  It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  all  became 
silent ;  ancl  the  weary  workers  slept  all  the  more  soundly  for 
the  six  days'  labor  of  the  week  which  was  past. 

It  was  a  chill,  dreary  night.  A  dry,  harsh  wind  blew  from 
the  north.  The  moon  was  at  the  full,  and  shone  clear  and 
cold  in  the  blue  vault. 

There  was  one  shrill  whistle,  some  noise  of  quietly-moving 
horses ;  and  those  who  looked  from  their  windows  saw  a  black- 
gowned  and  grimly-masked  horseman  sitting  upon  a  draped 
horse  at  every  corner  of  the  streets,  and  before  each  house, 
—  grim,  silent,  threatening.  Those  who  saw  dared  not  move, 
or  give  any  alarm.  Instinctively  they  knew  that  the  enemy 
they  had  feared  had  come,  had  them  in  his  clutches,  and  would 
work  his  will  of  them,  whether  they  resisted  or  not.  So,  with 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  all  were  silent  —  all  simulated 
sleep. 

Five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  the  silent  watch  continued.  A 
half-hour  passed,  and  there  had  been  no  sound.  Each  masked 
sentry  sat  his  horse  as  if  horse  and  rider  were  only  some  magic 
statuary  with  which  the  bleak  night  cheated  the  affrighted  eye. 
Then  a  whistle  sounded  on  the  road  toward  Verdenton.  The 
masked  horsemen  turned  their  horses'  heads  in  that  direction, 


206  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

and  slowly  and  silently  moved  away.  Gathering  in  t"WOS,  ihej 
fell  into  ranks  with  the  regularity  and  ease  of  a  practiced 
soldiery,  and,  as  they  filed  on  towards  Verdenton,  showed  a 
cavalcade  of  several  hundred  strong;  and  upon  one  of  the 
foremost  horses  rode  one  with  a  strange  figure  lashed  securely 
to  him. 

When  the  few  who  were  awake  in  the  little  village  found 
courage  to  inquire  as  to  what  the  silent  enemy  had  done,  they 
rushed  from  house  to  house  with  chattering  teeth  and  trem- 
bling limbs,  only  to  find  that  all  were  safe  within,  until  they 
came  to  the  house  where  old  Uncle  Jerry  Hunt  had  been 
dwelling  alone  since  the  death  of  his  wife  six  months  before. 
The  door  was  open. 

The  house  was  empty.  The  straw  mattress  had  been  thrown 
from  the  bed,  and  the  hempen  cord  on  which  it  rested  had  been 
removed. 

The  sabbath-morrow  was  well  advanced  when  the  Fool  was 
first  apprised  of  the  raid.  He  at  once  rode  into  the  town,  ar- 
riving there  just  as  the  morning  services  closed,  and  met  the 
people  coming  along  the  streets  to  their  homes.  Upon  the 
limb  of  a  low-branching  oak  not  more  than  forty  steps  from 
the  Temple  of  Justice,  hung  the  lifeless  body  of  old  Jerry. 
The  wind  turned  it  slowly  to  and  fro.  The  snowy  hair  and 
beard  contrasted  strangely  with  the  dusky  pallor  of  the  peace- 
ful face,  which  seemed  even  in  death  to  proffer  a  benison  to 
the  people  of  God  who  passed  to  and  fro  from  the  house  of 
prayer,  unmindful  both  of  the  peace  which  lighted  the  dead 
face,  and  of  the  rifled  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost  which  ap- 
pealed to  them  for  sepulture.  Over  all  pulsed  the  sacred 
echo  of  the  sabbath  bells.  The  sun  shone  brightly.  The 
wind  rustleS  the  autumn  leaves.  A  few  idlers  sat  upon  the 
steps  of  the  court-house,  and  gazed  carelessly  at  the  ghastly 
burden  on  tiie  oak.  The  brightly-dressed  church-goers  en- 
livened the  streets.  Xot  a  colored  man  was  to  be  seen.  All 
except  the  brown  cadaver  on  the  tree  spoke  of  peace  and 
prayer  —  a  holy  day  among  a  godly  people,  with  whom  rested 
the  benison  of  peace. 


THE   FOLLY  OF    WISDOM.  207 

The  Fool  asked  of  some  trusty  friends  the  story  of  the  night 
before.     With  trembling  lips  one  told  it  to  him, 

''  I  heard  the  noise  of  horses  —  quiet  and  orderly,  but  many. 
Looking  from  the  window  in  the  clear  moonlight,  I  saw  horse- 
men passing  down  the  street,  taking  their  stations  here  and 
there,  like  guards  who  have  been  told  off  for  duty,  at  specific 
points.     Two  stopped  before  my  house,  two  opposite  Mr.  Ras- 
kin's, and  two  or  three  upon  the  corner  below.     They  seemed 
to  have  been  sent  on  before  as  a  sort  of  picket-guard  for  the 
main  body,  which  soon  came  in.     I  should  say  there  were  from 
a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  still  in  line.     They  were  all 
masked,  and  wore  black  robes.     The  horses  were  disguised,  too, 
by  drapings.     There    were   only    a  few   mules   in   the  whole 
company.     They  were  good  horses,  though:  one  could  tell  that 
by  their  movements.     Oh,  it  was    a   respectable   crowd!     No 
doubt  about   that,  sir.     Beggars    don't   ride   in   this   country. 
I  don't  know  when  I  have  seen  so  many  good  horses  together 
since  the  Yankee  cavalry  left  here  after  the  surrender.     They 
were  well  drilled  too.     Plenty  of  old  soldiers  in  that  crowd. 
Why,  every  thing  went  just  like  clock-work.     Xot  a  word  was 
said — just  a  few  whistles  given.     They  came  like  a  dream, 
and  went  away  like  a    mist.     I  thought  we   should  have  to 
fight  for  our  lives;   but  they  did   not   disturb   any  one   here. 
They  gathered  down   by  the   court-house.     I  could  not  see 
precisely  what  they  were  at,  but,  from  my  back  upper  window, 
saw  them  down  about  the  tree.     After  a  while  a  signal  was 
given,  and  just  at  that  time  a  match  was  struck,  and  I  saw  a 
dark   body  swing   down    under  the    limb.     I  knew  then  they 
had  hung  somebody,  but  had  no  idea  who  it  was.     To  tell  the 
truth,  I  had  a  notion  it  was  you,  Colonel.     I  saw  several  citi- 
zens go  out  and  speak  to  these  men  on  the  horses.    There  were 
lights   in   some  of   the  oflBces   about   the    court-house,  and   in 
several  of  the  houses   about   town.     Every  thing  was  as  still 
as  the   grave,  — no   shouting   or  loud  talking,  and  no  excite- 
ment or  stir  about  town.     It  was  evident  that  a  great  many 
of  the  citizens  expected  the  movement,  and  were  prepared  to 
co-operate  with  it  by  manifesting  no  curiosity,  or  otherwise 


208  A   FOOrS  ERRAXD. 

endangering  its  success.  I  am  inclined  to  think  a  good  many 
from  this  town  were  in  it.  I  never  felt  so  powerless  in  my 
life.  Here  the  town  was  in  the  hands  of  two  or  three  hundred 
armed  and  disciplined  men,  hidden  from  the  eye  of  the  law, 
and  having  friends  and  co-workers  in  almost  every  house.  I 
knew  that  resistance  was  useless." 

"  But  why,"  asked  the  Fool,  "  has  not  the  body  been  re- 
moved? " 

"  We  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  was  the  reply;  "  but  the 
truth  is,  it  don't  seem  like  a  very  safe  business.  And,  after 
what  we  saw  last  night,  no  one  feels  like  being  the  first  to  do 
what  may  be  held  an  affront  by  those  men.  I  tell  you,  Colonel, 
I  went  through  the  war,  and  saw  as  much  danger  as  most  men 
in  it;  but  I  would  rather  charge  up  the  Heights  of  Gettys- 
burg again  than  be  the  object  of  a  raid  by  that  crowd." 

After  some  parley,  however,  some  colored  men  were  found, 
and  a  little  party  made  up,  who  went  out  and  saw  the  body 
of  Uncle  Jerry  cut  down,  and  laid  upon  a  box  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  coroner,  who  had  already  been  notified.  The 
inquest  developed  only  these  facts,  and  the  sworn  jurors  sol- 
emnly and  honestly  found  the  cause  of  death  unknown..  One 
of  the  colored  men  who  had  watched  the  proceedings  gave 
utterance  to  the  prevailing  opinion,  when  he  said,  ^- 

"  It  don't  do  fer  niggers  to  know  too  much!  Dat's  what  ail 
Uncle  Jerry !  " 

And  indeed  it  did  seem  as  if  his  case  was  one  in  which 
ignorance  might  have  been  bliss. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"OUT    OF    THE   ABUNDANCE    OF    THE    HEART." 

The  events  which  have  been  narrated  in  the  preceding 
chapters,  with  others  of  like  character,  filled  the  mind  of  the 
Fool  with  a  sort  of  dull  horror.     Strangely  enough,  he  was 


«  OUT  OF  THE  ABUNDANCE  OF  THE  HEART."    209 

not  affected  \Nith  fear.  He  knew  that  he  was  equally  in  the 
power  of  the  strange  organization,  which  was  as  secret  and  as 
fatal  in  its  proscription  as  the  Thugs  of  India.  He  knew  that 
he  was  quite  as  obnoxious  to  its  leaders,  and  as  likely  to  feel 
their  vengeance,  as  any  of  the  men  who  had  suffered  at  its 
hands ;  and  yet  he  was  far  more  moved  with  consideration  oi 
the  general  results  which  must  flow  from  the  evil  than  at  any 
personal  consequences  which  might  befall  himself. 

So  he  wrote  to  one  of  the  Wise  Men,  and  told  them  all  that 
he  knew,  all  that  he  feared.  He  recounted  to  them  what 
had  already  been  done,  and  his  apprehensions  as  to  what  might 
be  done  in  the  future.  He  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
these  acts  sprung  from  a  common  motive,  and  all  tended  to  a 
subversion  of  liberty,  and  a  prevention  of  the  exercise  of  those 
very  rights  or  privileges  which  it  was  the  spirit  and  essence  of 
the  war,  upon  the  part  of  the  nation,  to  confirm  and  secure 
in  their  completeness  and  universality.  He  pointed  out  the 
mockery  of  that  boast  which  had  so  many  thousand  times 
already  been  heralded  to  the  world, — that  slavery  had  been 
abolished,  and  liberty  established  without  "distinction  as  to 
race,  color,  or  previous  condition  of  servitude,"  while  men  were 
submitted  to  a  persecution  not  less  bitter,  and  hardly  less 
sanguinary,  than  that  which  "  Bloody  Mary  "  visited  upon  the 
heretics  of  her  day.  "What  they  did  unto  Walters,"  he  wrote, 
"  and  unto  Uncle  Jerry,  might  as  reasonably  have  been  done 
to  me,  or  to  any  other  man  of  like  political  faith."  He 
showed  that  it  was  not  personal  hostility  or  antipathy  which 
had  made  them  victims,  but  their  public  character  and  affilia- 
tions. He  declared  that  these  acts  of  outrage  numbered  not 
less  than  a  thousand  in  the  district  in  which  he  resided,  and 
that  not  one  had  been  punished,  or  could  be  punished,  by  the 
ordinary  tribunals,  because  of  the  perfection  of  the  disguise 
which  was  worn,  from  the  precautions  taken  to  avoid  detec- 
tion, and  the  fact  that  so  large  a  proportion  of  those  com- 
petent to  serve  as  jurors  were  quite  likely  to  be  particeps  crim- 
inis. 

He   asked   if    there   was   not  some    manner  in   which    the 


210  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

government  could  move  for  the  suppression  of  this  evil.  The 
letter  was  the  spontaneous  outpouring  of  a  heart  surcharged 
with  the  agony  of  a  hopeless  conflict  with  a  hidden  and 
unrelenting  foe.  It  was  without  reservation,  being  sent  to 
a  Wise  Man  with  whom  he  had  maintained  such  intimacy 
of  relation  as  folly  may  be  allowed  to  hold  with  wisdom. 

This  letter,  for  some  reason  or  other,  though  it  was  a  private 
one  to  himself,  the  Wise  Man  allowed  to  be  published  in  the 
newspapers :  so  it  resulted  that  the  Fool  received  more  than 
one  answer  thereto.  The  answer  received  from  the  Wise  Man 
to  whom  he  had  addressed  it,  though  somewhat  petulant,  —  as 
if  the  glory  which  he  had  won  by  his  advocacy  of  the  success- 
ful plan  of  reconstruction  had  already  soured  upon  his  stomach, 
—  was  at  least  frank  and  honest  in  its  sentiments,  and  no 
doubt  expressed  the  writer's  views  with  precision  ;  — 

TVashington,  D.C,  Xov.  10,  18—. 

My  DEAR  Colonel,  —  Your  letter  of  recent  date  is  re- 
ceived, and  I  have  duly  considered  its  contents.  The  state  of 
affairs  which  you  picture  is  undoubtedly  most  distressing  and 
discouraging ;  but  I  can  not  see  how  it  can  be  improved  by  any 
action  of  the  General  Government.  The  lately  rebellious 
States  are  now  fully  restored,  and  are  sovereign  republics,  of 
co-ordinate  rights  and  powers  with  the  other  States  of  this 
Union.  The  acts  of  violence  described  are  of  course  offenses 
against  their  laws,  and  as  such  are  punishable  in  their  courts. 
It  is  no  doubt  a  misfortune  that  those  courts  are  either  unable 
or  unwilling  to  punish  such  crimes  ;  but  it  is  a  misfortune  that 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  remediable  by  national  legislation. 

It  must  be  evident  to  you  that  the  government  can  not 
always  interfere  in  the  internal  affairs  of  those  States.  They 
must  be  allowed  to  control,  direct,  and  order  their  own  affairs, 
as  other  States  do.  It  is,  no  doubt,  very  unfortunate;  but 
it  is  far  better  than  to  break  down  or  disregard  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  our  government, — the  sacred  barriers 
of  the  Constitution.  Individual  discomforts  and  evils  must 
give  way  to  the  public  good.      The  principle  of  self-govern- 


''OUT  OF  THE  ABUNDANCE  OF  THE  heart:'    211 

ment  must  be  recognized  and  maintained,  even  at  the  sacrifice 
of  individual  interests  and  rights.  The  States  must  protect 
the  lives,  persons,  and  property  of  their  own  citizens  from 
aggression  on  the  part  of  others.  The  National  Government 
can  not  act,  so  long  as  its  existence  or  its  authority  is  not 
assailed  or  interfered  with. 

Of  course  there  will  always  be  instances  of  grievous  wrong 
practiced,  both  upon  individuals  and  upon  classes,  in  all  of  the 
States.  I  suppose  there  are  classes,  in  every  State,  which  are 
liable  to  injustice  and  oppression  ;  but  the  government  can  not 
interfere.  You  say  these  acts  are  done  to  prevent  the  free 
exercise  of  the  ballot,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right ;  but 
I  do  not  see  how  that  affects  the  question.  In  fact,  my  friend 
[for  the  Wise  Man  called  all  men  his  friends],  it  is  necessary 
that  the  people  of  the  South  should  learn,  what  it  seems  almost 
impossible  that  some  can  apprehend  after  so  many  years  of 
military  government,  —  that  all  these  questions  of  the  rights 
of  citizens  are  relegated,  by  the  fact  of  reconstruction,  to  the 
tribunals  of  the  States,  and  must  be  settled  and  determined 
there,  according  to  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  you  will  allow  me  to  say. 
If  the  colored  people  and  the  Union  men  of  the  South  expect  to 
receive  the  approval,  respect,  and  moral  support  of  the  country, 
they  must  show  themselves  capable  of  self-government,  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  The  government  has  done  all  it 
can  be  expected  to  do,  —  all  it  had  power  to  do,  in  fact.  It  has 
given  the  colored  man  the  ballot,  armed  him  w^ith  the  weapon 
of  the  freeman,  and  now  he  must  show  himself  worthy  to  use 
it.  We  have  prepared  him  for  the  battle  of  freedom,  and  it  is 
for  him  to  furnish  the  manhood  requisite  for  the  struggle. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  poor  white  and  of  the  Union  man. 
Instead  of  whining  over  the  wrongs  they  suffer  at  the  hands  of 
the  rebels,  they  should  assert  themselves,  and  put  down  such 
lawless  violence.  They  should  combine  to  enforce  the  law,  or, 
if  the  law  can  not  be  enforced,  then  to  protect  themselves.  The 
capacity  of  a  people  for  self-government  is  proved,  first  of  all, 
by  its  inclination  and  capacity  for  self-protection.     This  capa* 


212  A    FOOVS  ERRAND. 

city  must  exist  in  order  that  self-governing  communities  may 
exist.  The  doctrine  of  government  by  majorities  is  based 
upon  the  idea  that  the  majority  will  be  sufficiently  bold  and 
self-asserting  to  claim  and  maintain  its  rights.  It  is  contem- 
plctied,  of  course,  that  they  will  do  this  in  a  lawful  and  peacea- 
ble manner  ;  but  it  is  also  presumed  that  they  will  be  capable 
of  such  assertion  by  physical  means,  should  an  appeal  to  force 
at  any  time  become  necessary.  If  you  can  not  obtain  protection 
through  the  courts,  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  protect 
yourselves.  If  people  are  killed  by  the  Ku-Ivlux,  why  do  they 
not  kill  the  Ku-Klux? 

These  are  the  questions  that  arise  in  my  mind.  I  would 
not  presume  to  advise,  but  think  they  are  the  questions  which 
all  reasonable  men  must  propound  to  themselves  in  regard  to 
this  matter. 

Very  respectfully, 


To  this  letter  the  Fool  answered  as  follows :  — 

''My  dear  Sir,  —  Your  letter  in  reply  to  mine  of  the  5th 
inst.  recalls  the  recent  past  very  vividly.  I  am  perhaps 
bound  to  admit  your  conclusion  that  the  National  Government 
can  not  interfere  without  violating  some  of  the  traditions  of  our 
Federal  Republic,  but  not  its  principles,  and  especially  not  its 
spirit. 

"  It  should  be  remembered  that  these  States  as  re-created  — 
not  re-constructed  —  are  mere  creatures  of  the  national  power. 
Our  legislators  and  theorizers  have  been  puttering  and  quib- 
bling upon  the  idea,  that  because  there  can  be  no  secession,  or 
dissolution  of  the  Union,  upon  any  principle  of  reserved  right, 
therefore  there  can  be  no  destruction  of  the  States.  By  a 
flimsy  fiction  it  is  held  that  Georgia  was  a  State  of  the  Union  at 
the  very  time  when  a  hostile  government  was  organized  there, 
dominated  every  foot  of  her  territory,  exacted  allegiance  and 
tribute  from  every  inhabitant  of  her  soil,  and  furnished  her 
contingent  for  armed  resistance  to  the  United  States. 

"  It  is  a  shallow  trick  of  the  sciolist.     The  act  of  rebellion, 


«  OUT  OF  THE  ABUNDANCE  OF  THE  HEART/'   213 

when  it  is  so  far  successful  as  to  overturn  the  government  of  a 
State  of  this  Union,  and  establish  a  hostile  one  in  its  stead, 
destroys  that  State.  The  fallacy  lies  in  the  application  of  the 
word  '  State,'  in  its  original  or  international  sense,  to  one  of 
the  subordinate  commonwealths  of  our  nation.  A  *  State,'  in 
that  sense,  is  simply  (1)  a  certain  specific  territory  (2)  occupied 
by  an  organized  community  (3),  united  under  one  government. 
If  that  could  be  applied  to  any  of  our  States  without  modifica- 
tion, this  conclusion  might  be  true.  But,  in  order  to  define  our 
'  State  '  correctly,  we  must  add  one  other  element ;  to  wit  (4), 
sustaining  certain  specific  and  defined  relations  to  other  States, 
and  to  the  National  Government  of  the  United  States  of 
America. 

"  It  is  this  last  element  which  rebellion  destroyed,  and  thereby 
annihilated  the  State.  Every  element  of  a  State  of  the  American 
Union  remained,  except  this  statal  relation  to  the  Union;  and 
this  is  just  the  very  element  which  is  as  necessary  to  statal 
existence  as  breath  to  life.  It  is  what  distinguishes  a  State  of 
the  Union  from  all  other  organized  communities  of  earth  called 
'  States.'  You  may  have  all  but  this,  and  there  is  no  State  in 
the  sense  we  use  it,  but  only  a  skeleton,  a  lifeless  body.  It  is 
this  element  which  reconstruction  restored.  It  is  this  element 
which  is  under  the  control  of  the  General  Government,  and  must 
be  so  held  and  deemed,  or  reconstruction  was  a  clear  and  fla- 
grant usurpation. 

"  You  think  this  a  startling  doctrine;  but,  if  it  be  not  true, 
then  both  the  nation  and  the  loyal  people  of  the  South  are  in  a 
most  dangerous  dilemma.  It  may  not  be  permissible  even  to 
suppose  that  the  plan  of  reconstruction  adopted  was  not  abso- 
lutely perfect;  but  for  the  argument,  allowing  it  to  be  found 
impracticable  and  ineffective,  then,  according  to  the  reasoning 
adduced  by  you,  there  is  no  remedy.  As  the  tree  fell  when 
the  State  was  admitted  by  congressional  action,  so  it  must  lie 
to  the  end  of  time.  It  is  like  marriage,  —  a  contract  indis- 
soluble by  either  or  both  of  the  parties,  a  relation  which  no 
antagonism  can  ever  impair  or  destroy.  If  that  is  so,  then  you 
are  right,  and  our  appeal  for  aid  is  worse  than  futile. 


214  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

''  But,  if  it  be  true,  how  great  was  the  crime  of  those  who 
thrust  upon  the  poor,  ignorant  colored  people  of  the  South, 
upon  the  few  inexperienced  and  usually  humble  Union  men, 
and  the  still  fewer  Xortliern  men  who  have  pitched  their  tents 
in  this  section,  the  task  —  the  herculean  and  impossible  task  — 
of  building  up  self-regulating  States  which  should  assure  and 
protect  the  rights  of  all,  and  submit  quietly  and  cheerfully  to 
the  sway  of  lawful  majorities  ! 

"It  should  be  remembered  that  the  pressure  for  reconstruction 
came  from  the  North,  —  not  from  the  people  of  the  North,  but 
from  its  politicians.  It  was  reduced  to  practice,  not  because 
society  here  was  ripe  for  its  operation,  but  to  secure  political 
victory  and  party  ascendency.  T  do  not  object  to  this  motive: 
it  is  the  very  thing  that  makes  the  government  of  parties 
generally  safe.  I  allude  to  it  only  to  show  that  we  of  the 
South,  native  or  foreign-born,  are  not  responsible  for  the  perils 
which  are  now  threatening  the  work  that  has  once  received 
the  approbative  fiat,  'It  is  finished!'  When  we  prophesied 
failm'e,  as  so  many  of  us  did,  we  were  pooh-poohed  like  silly 
children  ;  and  now,  when  we  announce  apparent  failure,  we  are 
met  with  petulant  impatience,  and  told  to  take  care  of  our- 
selves. 

"It  is  all  well  for  you,  sitting  safely  and  cosily  in  your  easy- 
chair  under  the  shadow  of  the  dome  of  the  Capitol,  to  talk 
about  asserting  ourselves,  protecting  ourselves,  and  retaliating 
upon  our  persecutors.  Either  you  have  not  apprehended  our 
condition,  or  you  are  inclined  to  'mock  at  our  calamity.' 

"  Resistance,  I  mean  such  resistance  as  would  be  effective, 
is  very  nearly  impossible.  In  the  first  place  an  overwhelming 
force  is  always  concentrated  on  the  single  isolated  individual. 
It  is  not  a  mob,  except  in  the  aggregation  of  strength  and 
numbers.  Every  thing  is  planned  and  ordered  beforehand. 
The  game  is  stalked.  He  that  resists  does  so  at  hopeless  odds. 
He  may  desperately  determine  to  throw  away  his  life ;  but  he 
can  accomplish  no  other  result  than  to  take  one  with  him  as 
he  goes,  and  the  chances  are  against  even  that.  You  must 
remember  that  the  attack  is  only  made  at  night,  is  always  a 


«  OUT  OF  THE  ABUNDANCE  OF  THE  HEART."    215 

matter  of  surprise,  and  put  in  operation  by  a  force  whose 
numbers  strike  terror,  always  enhanced  by  their  fantastic  guise, 
which  also  greatly  increases  the  chances  of  a  misshot  or  false 
blow,  should  the  unfortunate  victim  try  to  defend  himself. 

"  Resistance  by  way  of  retaliation  is  still  more  absurd. 
Suppose  a  party  of  men  should  whip  you  to-night,  and  you 
should  find  yourself  unable  to  penetrate  their  disguise,  or 
discover  their  identity  in  any  manner,  would  you  start  out 
to-morrow,  and  run  a-muck  among  your  fellow-townsmen  ? 
Or  w^ould  you  guess  at  the  aggressors,  and  destroy  without 
proof?  Evidently  not.  To  organize  such  retaliation  would 
not  be  difficult.  Such  is  the  exasperation  of  the  colored 
people,  that  they  would  readily  join  to  give  a  smoking  house 
in  exchange  for  every  bleeding  back  :  indeed,  if  they  were 
not  restrained  by  the  counsel  of  cooler  and  wiser  heads,  we 
should  soon  have  a  servile  insurrection  here,  which  would 
make  the  horrors  of  Santo  Domingo  pale  before  its  intensity. 
Should  we  put  your  advice  into  practice,  the  government  would 
soon  find  a  way  to  interfere,  despite  the  constitutional  provis- 
ions, or,  more  properly,  constitutional  scruples,  of  some.  Leav- 
ing out  of  sight  the  fact  that  this  is  a  contest  of  poverty, 
ignorance,  and  inexperience,  against  intelligence,  wealth,  and 
skill,  —  the  struggle  of  a  race  yet  servile  in  its  characteristics 
w^ith  one  which  has  always  excelled  in  domination,  — you  will 
perceive  that  the  idea  of  retaliation,  even  among  equals  in 
rank  and  intelligence,  would  be  futile  and  absurd. 

"  As  to  the  State  authorities  :  the  courts,  you  have  seen,  are 
powerless.  In  a  county  in  which  there  have  been  two  hun- 
dred such  outrages,  there  has  never  been  a  presentment  by  the 
grand  jury  for  one  of  them.  The  impossibility  of  identifica- 
tion, the  terror  v/hich  prevents  testimony  being  given,  and  the 
fact  that  the  very  perpetrators  of  these  midnight  assassina- 
tions are  found  on  all  juries,  show  this  beyond  a  peradventure : 
so  that  is  out  of  the  question  also.  The  Executive  of  the 
State  is  bound  by  constitutional  limitations  much  less  fanci- 
ful and  airy  than  those  which  you  have  adduced  in  excuse  for 
the  national  legislation.     lie  can  not  interfere  where  the  pro- 


216  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

cess  of  the  courts  is  not  resisted.  The  whole  theory  and 
policy  of  our  government  is  to  secure  this  right  to  the  citizen. 
The  denunciations  of  all  our  old  Declarations  of  Rights  were 
leveled  expressly  at  such  usurpations.  The  Executive  who 
should  dare  to  organize  a  military  force  to  protect  its  citizens, 
or  to  aid  in  apprehending  or  punishing  such  men,  would  do  so, 
not  only  in  peril  of  his  life  from  assassination,  but  also  at  the 
risk  of  impeachment,  degradation,  and  ruin. 

"  So  we  are  remitted  to  our  original  petition  to  the  National 
Government.  If  that  can  give  us  no  aid,  we  have  none  to 
hope  for.  We  can  only  repeat  the  Petriue  cry,  '  Save,  Lord, 
or  we  perish ! ' 

"  Respectfully, 

"  Comfort  Servosse." 

To  this  letter  the  Wise  Man  made  no  answer,  but  verbally 
stated  to  a  mutual  friend  that  he  considered  it  very  disre- 
spectful to  him.  The  Wise  Men  of  that  day  looked  upon  the 
supporters  of  reconstruction  at  the  South  as  mere  instruments 
in  their  hands,  —  to  be  worked  as  puppets,  but  to  be  blamed  as 
men,  for  the  results  of  their  acts.  They  had  not  yet  arrived 
at  that  refinement  of  cruelty  which  also  made  them  scapegoats 
for  the  results  of  others'  ignorance  and  folly.  That  was  to 
come  afterward. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

"LOVE   ME,   LOVE   MY   DOG." 

The  Fool's  neighbors  having  read  his  letter  to  the  Wise 
Man,  as  published  in  the  great  journal  in  which  it  appeared, 
were  greatly  incensed  thereat,  and  immediately  convened  a 
public  meeting  for  the  purpose  of  taking  action  in  regard  to 
the  same.  At  this  meeting  they  passed  resolutions  affirming 
the  quiet,  peaceful,  and  orderly  character  of  the  county,  and 


''LOVE  ME,   LOVE  MY  DOG.'  21T 

denouncing  in  unmeasured  terms  all  reports  or  rumors  to  a 
contrary  purport  as  false  and  slanderous,  and  especially  affirm- 
ing with  peculiar  earnestness  that  the  recent  act  of  violence 
which  had  startled  and  amazed  this  law-abiding  community 
was  not  the  work  of  any  of  its  citizens,  but  an  irruption  from 
beyond  its  borders. 

It  was  noticeable  that  none  of  the  colored  people  joined  in 
this  demonstration,  nor  any  of  those  white  people,  who,  on  that 
night  of  horror,  had  stood  with  bated  breath  behind  their  barred 
doors,  in  the  midst  of  weeping  and  terrified  households  mo- 
mently expecting  attack.  There  were  not  many  of  the  latter, 
it  is  true,  and  what  was  termed  "  respectable  society  "  had  long 
ago  shut  its  doors  in  their  faces ;  and  it  was  by  no  means  to 
be  expected  that  the  respectable  white  people  of  any  county 
would  seek  to  have  their  declarations  confirmed  by  the  testi- 
mony of  an  inferior  race,  whose  evidence,  at  best,  would  have 
to  be  taken  with  many  grains  of  allowance.  There  were  many 
eloquent  and  impressive  speeches  made  on  this  occasion. 

The  lawyers  were,  of  course,  in  the  lead,  as  the  profession 
always  is  in  all  matters  of  public  interest  in  our  land.  They 
descanted  largely  upon  magna  charta,  and  the  law-abiding  and 
liberty-loving  spirit  of  the  people  of  the  grand  old  county,  on 
which  the  sun  of  American  liberty  first  arose,  and  had  shone 
his  very  brightest  ever  since.  They  told  how  the  people, 
after  being  overwhelmed  in  the  holiest  crusade  for  liberty 
that  the  world  had  ever  known,  by  the  hosts  of  foreign  mer- 
cenaries w^hich  the  North  had  hurled  against  them,  after  hav- 
ing their  fields  and  homes. ravaged  and  polluted  by  Yankee 
vandals,  had  surrendered  in  good  faith,  and  had  endured  all 
the  tyranny  and  oppression  which  Yankee  cunning  and  malice 
could  invent,  without  resistance,  almost  without  murmuring. 
They  painted  the  three  years  of  unutterable  oppression,  w-hen 
they  were  ground  under  the  heel  of  "  military  despotism," 
deprived  of  the  right  of  self-government,  their  laws  subverted 
to  the  will  of  a  "military  satrap,"  and  their  judges  debarred 
from  enforcing  them  according  to  their  oaths  of  office.  They 
recalled  the  fact,  that  in  that  very  county  the  sheriff  had  been 


218  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

prevented  by  a  file  of  soldiers  from  cari*ying  into  effect  the 
sentence  of  the  court,  given  in  strict  conformity  with  the  law 
of  the  State,  and  requiring  the  offender  to  be  publicly  whipped 
on  his  bare  back.  They  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
whipping-post,  the  stocks,  and  the  branding-iron,  —  the  signifi- 
cant emblems  of  their  former  civilization,  —  had  been  swept 
away  by  the  influx  of  "Yankee  ideas,"  which  had  culminated 
in  the  inexpressible  infamy  of  military  reconstruction,  and 
"nigger  supremacy." 

Then  they  turned  the  ton-ent  of  their  denunciatory  wrath 
upon  the  Fool,  and  gave  free  rein  to  their  fancy  as  they 
invented  for  him  a  boyhood,  youth,  and  early  manhood,  suffi- 
ciently degraded  and  infamous  to  fit  him  for  the  career  of  the 
carpet-bagger.  "VMth  a  magnificent  disregard  both  of  chro- 
nology and  geography,  he  w^as  represented  as  having  been  born 
"  at  Nantucket,  Cape  Cod,  and  all  alongshore ;  "  and  by  each 
successive  speaker  was  credited  with  a  new  birth  more  in- 
famous, if  possible,  in  its  surroundings  and  associations,  than 
any  theretofore  conferred  upon  liim.  A  life  of  corresponding 
depravity  was  also  invented  for  each  new  birthplace,  every  one 
culminating  in  that  last  act  of  unparalleled  infamy,  —  the  ut- 
terance of  slanderous  reports  against  the  ever-martyred  and 
long-suffering  South,  which  had  laid  aside  the  memory  of  its 
manifold  wrongs,  and  received  with  open  arms  one  of  its  op- 
pressors,—  a  man  whose  hands  were  red  with  the  blood  of  her 
sons  slain  in  battle.  Nay,  more,  he  was  denounced  as  one  of 
those  modern  moss-troopers  who  raided  and  ravaged,  and  stole 
and  burned,  with  the  robber-chief-,  Sherman,  on  his  torch-lit 
pathway  to  the  sea,  —  Sherman,  whose  infamies  were  so  un- 
paralleled as  to  require  the  use  of  a  new  word  to  express  their 
enormity,  who  had  made  the  term  '■'■hummer^'  expressive  of  the 
quintessence  of  all  ignominy. 

Then  spoke  the  grave  and  reverend  divine  who  had  dis- 
coursed with  unruffled  serenity  of  "the  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness  "  on  that  chill  sabbath  when  the  body  of  poor 
Jerry  swung  from  the  adjacent  oak,  turning  here  and  there 
the    unseeing    orbs    in    unsyllabled    prayer   for    the    common 


''LOVE  ME,  LOVE  MY  DOG:'  219 

charity  of  Christian  burial.  He  deplored,  as  his  calling  re- 
quired him  to  do,  all  violence  and  harshness.  He  even  depre- 
cated harsh  words  and  violent  language.  But  when  he  saw  his 
people  assailed  with  false  and  infamous  aspersions  by  one  who 
had  come  among  them,  and  had  for  years  been  the  recipient  of 
their  forbearing  charity  and  long-suffering  patience,  he  could 
not  hold  his  peace.  And,  after  that  frank  acknowledgment  of 
his  fallibility,  the  good  man  did  not  seem  to  make  any  further 
effort  to  do  so,  but  followed  the  lead  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
bar  with  a  zeal  that  showed  a  determination  to  excel,  until  he 
grew  hoarse  and  sweaty,  and  red  in  the  face,  and  had  lost  his 
eye-glasses,  and  shed  half  a  mouthful  of  false  teeth.  Then 
he  sat  down  for  repairs,  and  the  sheriff  gave  his  testimony. 

He  was  a  man  of  few  words ;  but  he  avouched  the  peace  and 
quiet  of  the  county  by  telling  how  few  vrarrants  he  had  in  his 
hands ;  how  few  presentments  had  been  made  by  the  grand 
jury;  how  certain  he  was  that  the  acts  of  violence  (which  all 
regretted)  had'  been  almost  entirely  committed  by  lawless 
bands  from  other  counties;  and,  in  conclusion,  he  asserted 
that  he  had  never  had  a  paper  which  he  could  not  serve  with- 
out the  aid  of  a  jjosse.  Indeed,  so  potent,  was  the  law-abiding 
spirit,  that  a  boy  of  ten,  armed  with  a  lawful  warrant,  could 
arrest  any  man  in  the  county  charged  with  crime. 

To  the  same  effect  testified  all  his  deputies,  and  many  other 
most  honorable  men  ;  and  all  expressed  as  much  indignation  as 
the  imperfection  of  the  language  would  allow,  at  the  atrocity 
of  the  Fool's  conduct  in  reporting  any  thing  derogatory  to  the 
honor  of  the  South,  and  especially  of  the  law-abiding  char- 
acter of  the  people  of  that  county. 

When  all  who  were  full  enough  for  utterance  had  borne 
their  testimony,  and  the  laudatory  resolutions  had  been 
adopted,  one  of  the  young  hot-heads  of  the  meeting  thought 
to  immortalize  himself  by  offering  a  resolution  denouncing 
the  Fool  by  name,  in  the  strongest  terms  he  could  command. 
Some  of  the  older  and  cooler  ones  were  somewhat  doubtful 
about  the  policy  of  such  a  course ;  and,  after  some  discussion, 
the  resolution   was   withdrawn,  and  a  committee   appointed, 


220  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

with  instructions  to  confer  with  the  Fool,  see  if  he  still 
avowed  the  authorship  of  the  letter  in  question,  and  affirmed 
its  contents,  and  report  the  result  of  such  conference  to  an- 
other meeting,  to  be  called  by  them  at  such  time  as  they 
might  select.  Thereupon  the  meeting  adjourned,  and  on  the 
next  day  the  Fool  received  the  following  letter  from  the 
committee :  — 

"Colonel  Comfort  Servosse.  Sir,  —  The  people  of 
Verdenton  and  vicinity  have  seen,  with  surprise  and  regret,  a 
letter  purporting  to  have  been  written  by  you,  and  published 
in  the  New  York  Age  of  the  10th  inst.,  stating,  among  other 
things,  that  there  had  been  '  one  thousand  outrages  committed 
in  this  congressional  district  by  armed  men  in  disguise,'  in 
other  words,  by  the  Ku-Klux  as  they  are  called.  The  good 
citizens  of  this  county  feel  that  they  would  be  open  to  the 
most  just  censure,  and  dereliction  of  duty  to  themselves  and 
the  country,  should  they  permit  such  communications  to  pass 
without  their  notice  and  condemnation.  Not  wishing  to  act' 
in  haste,  or  to  do  any  injustice,  the  undersigned  have  been 
appointed  a  committee,  on  behalf  of  the  law-abiding  people 
of  this  vicinity,  to  inquire  of  you  whether  you  wrote  said  letter, 
and,  if  so,  whether  you  still  affirm  its  contents. 
"  An  immediate  answer  is  required. 

"  Respectfully, 

"A.  B ,) 

"  C.  D ,  V  Committee  :* 

«E.  F .) 

To  this  letter  the  Fool  made  answer :  — 

"To  A.  B.  AND  Others,  Committee,  —  Your  favor  of  this 
morning  is  at  hand,  informing  me  that  you  have  been  ap- 
pointed a  committee,  by  a  meeting  of  the  citizens  of  Ver- 
denton and  vicinity,  who  desire  to  ascertain  whether  I  am  the 
writer  of  a  certain  letter  published  in  a  Northern  journal, 
which  they  wish  to  notice  and  condemn. 

"  In  reply,  I  would  state  that  I  have  read  the  article  to  which 


''LOVE  ME,   LOVE  MY  DOG."  221 

you  refer;  that  I  did  write  the  letter  as  published,  and  most 
unhesitatingly  re-affirm  its  contents  to  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge and  belief.  I  do  not  exactly  understand  the  nature  of 
the  demand  made  upon  me ;  but  as  I  am  always  willing  and 
anxious  to  gratify  my  neighbors  with  a  declaration  of  faith, 
and  such  reasons  as  I  may  have,  you  will,  I  feel  sure,  pardon 
me  if  I  see  fit  to  give  something  more  than  a  mere  categorical 
answer  to  your  inquiry. 

"  I  am  not  a  little  surprised  that  such  a  demand  should  be 
made,  and  in  the  formal  manner  which  characterizes  this.  I 
find  nothing  in  the  letter  which  I  have  not  repeated  and 
affirmed  over  and  over  again  in  private  conversation,  and 
several  times  on  public  occasions.  It  would  seem,  however, 
from  the  tenor  of  your  letter,  that  the  part  of  it  which  espe- 
cially arouses  the  objurgation  of  my  good  neighbors,  and  the 
part  which  I  am  informed  was  especially  inveighed  against 
at  the  meeting  last  night,  is  my  estimate  of  one  thousand 
outrages  in  this  congressional  district.  AYith  regard  to  this, 
you  will  permit  me  to  remark  that  I  am  clearly  satisfied  that 
it  is  altogether  below  the  fact.  Of  course,  as  I  have  not 
access  to  the  secret  archives  of  the  Klan,  I  have  no  means, 
at  present,  of  verifying  this  estimate.  You  will  recollect  that 
this  estimate  embraces  every  unlawful  act  perpetrated  by 
armed  and  organized  bodies  in  disguise.  The  entry  of  the 
premises,  and  surrounding  the  dwelling  with  threats  against 
the  inmates ;  the  seizure  and  destruction,  or  appropriation  of 
arms;  the  dragging  of  men,  women,  and  children  from  their 
homes,  or  compelling  their  flight;  the  binding,  gagging,  and 
beating  of  men  and  women;  shooting  at  specific  individuals, 
or  indiscriminately  at  inhabited  houses;  the  mutilation  oi 
men  and  women  in  methods  too  shocking  and  barbarous  to 
be  recounted  here ;  burning  houses;  destroying  stock ;  and  mak- 
ing the  night  a  terror  to  peaceful  citizens  by  the  ghastly  horror 
of  many  and  deliberate  murders,  —  all  these  come  within  the 
fearful  category  of  '  outrages.'  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
the  greater  proportion  of  these  acts  are  studiously  concealed 
by  the  victims,  unless  of  so  serious  a  character  as  to  render 


222  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

concealment  impossible,  because  of  the  invariable  threat  of 
more  serioas  punishment  in  case  complaint  is  made.  I  know, 
in  many  instances,  when  parties  have  come  to  me  from  all  parts 
of  the  district  to  seek  legal  redress,  that,  when  advised  that  it 
could  not  be  obtained,  they  have  begged  me  to  keep  silence  in 
regard  to  it,  lest  they  should  pay  with  their  lives  for  having 
revealed  it. 

"  I  am  aware,  gentlemen,  that  many  of  those  who  are  classed 
as  'our  best  citizens  '  have  heretofore  insisted,  and  perhaps  even 
yet  do  insist,  that  these  things  were  unworthy  of  serious  atten- 
tion; and  I  will  confess  that  I  have  always  suspected  such 
parties  of  a  peculiar  knowledge  of  these  crimes  which  could 
only  be  obtained  by  privity  in  regard  to  their  perpetrators. 
You  yourselves,  gentlemen,  will  bear  me  witness  that  I  have 
omitted  no  proper  opportunity  to  denounce  these  acts,  and  warn 
both  the  perpetrators,  and  the  community  at  large,  that  such 
horrible  barbarities,  such  disregard  of  human  right  and  hu- 
man life,  must  bear  some  sort  of  bitter  fruit  in  the  near 
future.  That  I  was  right,  witness  the  horrid  culmination  of 
deliberate  and  cowardly  barbarity  of  which  your  streets  were 
recently  the  theater !  Witness  the  Temple  of  Justice  in  a  neigh- 
boring county  besmeared  with  the  blood  of  an  officer  assassi- 
nated with  cowardly  treachery  and  cold-blooded  deliberateness! 

"  The  evidences  in  support  of  my  estimate  are  daily  accumu- 
lating, and  convincing  the  most  incredulous  that  it  is  even 
below  the  horrible  truth.  And  yet  you  wish  to  know  if  I 
re-affirm  that  estimate  !  I  am  uncertain  how  to  regard  this 
demand.  It  seems  too  absurd  to  be  serious,  and  too  polite 
for  a  threat.  If  it  was  supposed  that  recent  events,  or  the 
meeting  of  last  night,  had  so  intimidated  or  alarmed  me  as  to 
lead  me  to  retract  such  statement  as  the  price  of  innnunity, 
it  was  a  mistake.  1  stated  in  the  letter  to  which  you  have 
directed  attention,  my  apprehension  that  I  might  at  any  mo- 
ment meet  the  fate  of  John  Walters.  With  that  apprehen- 
sion strengthened  by  your  demand,  I  still  reiterate  my  belief, 
and  hope  I  would  have  fortitude  to  do  so  if  it  were  to  be  my 
dying  declaration,  as  indeed  it  may  well  be,  since  no  man  can 


LOVE  ME,   LOVE  MY  DOG:' 


223 


be  considered  safe  from  assassination  who  lias  rendered  him- 
self obnoxious  to  this  band  of  Christian  Thugs. 

"With  these  views,  I  have  done,  and  shall  continue  to  do, 
all  in  my  power  to  direct  the  attention  and  influence  of  the 
government  to  this  monster  evil. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  as  I  have  answered  your  questions 
thus  fully,  will  you  permit  me  to  ask  one  or  two  for  my  own 
enlightenment  ?     If  the  '  good  citizens  of  this  county  '  are  so 
anxious  to  play  the  censor,  why  have  they  not  found  breath 
to  utter,  in   their  collective  capacity,  a  protest   against  the 
outrages  which  bands  of  disguised  villains  have  perpetrated 
in  this  county  ?     For  more  than   a  year,  at   brief  intervals, 
under  the  very  noses  of  the  'people  of  Verdonton  and  vicinity,' 
every  right  of  the  citizen  has  been  violated  by  gangs  of  masked 
villains;   and  yet  they  have  let  them  pass  without 'notice' or 
*  condemnation  '     Some  of  the  most  atrocious  outrages  which 
even  the  annals  of  this  modern   barbarity  can  furnish   were 
perpetrated  in  this  very  county ;    and  yet  no  word  of  censure 
has  ever  come  from  the  'people  of  Verdenton  and  vicinity.' 
No  meeting  of   sympathy,  no    expression   of   indignation,  no 
utterance  of  horror,  is  heard  from  the  'people  of   Verdenton 
and  vicinity.'     They  have  no  '  duty  to  the  country  '  to  perform 
when  men  are  whipped,  women  beaten  almost  to  a  jelly  Cwhite 
women   too),    children   made   imbecile   by   fright,   and    other 
outrages  perpetrated  upon  the  persons  of  citizens  dwelling  'in 
the  peace  of  God  and  the  State,'  within  the  limits  of  this  very 
county.     But  no  sooner  does  one  utter  a  cry  of  warning,  a  call 
for  help,  a  protest  against  these  fearful  enormities,  wrung  from 
his  very  soul  by  their  frequency  and  horror,  than  '  the  people 
of  Verdenton  and  vicinity  '  have  a  duty  to  the  country,  and 
must  not  let  this  cry  escape  their  'notice'  and  'condemnation.' 
The  scourged  and  mangled  victims  had  no  claim  upon  your 
sympathy;    but  the  masked  and  uniformed  desperadoes   and 
assassins  who  perpetrated  these  fearful,  bloody  deeds  —  ah !  — 
♦  Take  them  up  tenderly, 
Touch  them  with  care.' 
Whoever  speaks   of  their  crimes   above   a  whisper   must  be 


224  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

'noticed  and  condemned.'  Ah,  'people  of  Verdenton  and 
vicinity,'  with  the  highest  personal  regard  for  many  of  your 
number,  I  must  say,  with  '  surprise  and  regret,'  that  the  con- 
duct of  many  in  this  matter  bears  a  flavor  which  I  hesitate  to 
name ! 

"  Duty  is  a  good  thing,  gentlemen.  The  notice  and  condem- 
nation of  evil,  the  reprehension  of  vice,  is  so  noble  a  virtue  that 
even  an  excess  of  zeal  in  its  exercise  may  be  pardoned  or 
admired.  Amor  patrice  is  a  thing  so  glorious  that  poets  will 
hymn  its  praises  for  all  time.  But  I  have  understood,  gentle- 
men, that  respected  brands  are  sometimes  placed  upon  spurious 
articles.  Duty  is  sometimes  but  the  livery  of  an  unworthy 
purpose ;  reprehension  of  evil,  only  the  flurry  which  wrong  stirs 
up  to  cover  its  retreat;  and  amor  patrice  —  well,  it  has  different 
faces,  'sometimes  the  image  of  good  Queen  Bess,  and  anon  of 
a  Bloody  Mary.'  There  are  near  at  hand  some  very  ugly  facts 
which  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  consider  at  this  time. 

"  Let  it  not  be  understood,  that,  by  these  remarks,  I  would 
reflect  upon  all  the  'people  of  Verdenton  and  vicinity.'  Some 
of  them  have  stood  forth  and  denounced  these  acts  from  the 
first;  but  these,  however,  are  rare. 

"  Regretting  both  the  events  which  originally  called  forth 
my  letter,  and  have  made  our  State  a  hot-bed  of  horrors,  and 
the  course  which  the  '  people  of  Verdenton  and  vicinity '  have 
seen  fit  to  adopt  in  relation  to  the  same, 

"  I  remain,  gentlemen,  your  obedient  servant, 

"Comfort  Servosse." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    HARVEST    OF    W^ISDOM. 


The  cry  which  the  Fool  had  uttered,  however,  was  but  the 
echo  of  that  which  had  already  come  up  to  the  ears  of  an 
astonished  nation  from  the  mouths  of  thousands  upon  thou- 


THE  HARVEST  OF   WISDOM.  225 

Bands  of  those  who  had  seen  and  suffered  the  evils  which  he 
portrayed,  and  of  other  thousands  of  dumb  mouths  which 
spoke  of  the  voiceless  agony  of  death. 

This  new  Reign  of  Terror  had  come  so  stilly  and  quietly 
upon  the  world,  that  none  realized  its  fearf ulness  and  extent. 
At  first  it  had  been  a  thing  of  careless  laughter  to  the  great, 
free,  unsuspecting  Xorth,  then  a  matter  of  contemptuous  ridi- 
cule, and  finally  a  question  of  incredulous  horror.  Tw^o 
things  had  contributed  to  this  feeling.  Those  who  had  suf- 
fered had,  in  the  main,  been  humble  people.  The  public 
press  did  not  teem  with  their  wrongs,  because  there  were  none 
to  tell  them.  They  w^ere  people,  too,  whose  story  of  WTong 
had  been  so  long  in  the  ear  of  the  public,  that  it  was  tired  of 
the  refrain.  It  had  yielded,  very  slowly  and  unwillingly,  to 
the  conviction  that  slavery  was  an  evil,  and  the  colored  man 
too  near  akin  to  white  humanity  to  be  rightfully  held  in  bond- 
age, and  subjected  to  another's  will.  It  had  slowly  and  doubt- 
fully been  brought  to  the  point  of  interference  therewith  on  the 
ground  of  military  necessity  in  the  suppression  of  rebellion, 
and,  after  a  grand  struggle  of  conflicting  ideas,  had  finally 
settled  down  to  the  belief  that  enfranchisement  was  all  that 
was  required  to  cure  all  the  ills  which  hitherto  had  afilicted, 
or  in  the  future  might  assail,  the  troublesome  and  pestiferous 
African.  This  had  been  granted.  The  conscience  of  the 
nation  w^as  satisfied,  and  it  highly  resolved  that  thereafter 
it  w^ould  have  peace;  that  the  negro  could  have  no  further 
ground  of  complaint,  and  it  would  hear  no  further  murmurs. 
So  it  stopped  its  ears,  and,  when  the  south  wdnd  brought  the 
burden  of  woe,  it  shook  its  head  blankly,  and  said,  "I  hear 
nothing,  nothing  !     All  is  peace." 

But,  when  the  cries  became  so  clamorous  that  they  could 
not  longer  be  ignored,  the  Wise  Men  appointed  a  committee 
who  should  investigate  the  matter,  and  hear  all  that  could 
be  said  hoih.  pro  and  con. 

Oh!  a  strange,  sad  story  is  that  which  fills  the  thirteen 
volumes  of  testimony,  documents,  and  conclusions,  reported 
by   that  committee ;    a  strange   commentary   upon    Christian 


226  A  FOOL'S  ERR  AND. 

civilization  ;  a  strange  history  of  peaceful  years ;  —  bloody  as 
the  reign  of  Mary,  barbarous  as  the  chronicles  of  the  Co' 
manche ! 

Of  the  slain  there  were  enough  to  furnish  forth  a  battle- 
field, and  all  from  those  three  classes,  the  negro,  the  scalawag, 
and  the  carpet-bagger,  —  all  killed  with  deliberation,  over- 
whelmed by  numbers,  roused  from  slumber  at  the  murk  mid- 
night, in  the  hall  of  public  assembly,  upon  the  river-brink, 
on  the  lonely  woods-road,  in  simulation  of  the  public  execu- 
tion, —  shot,  stabbed,  hanged,  drowned,  mutilated  beyond 
description,  tortured  beyond  conception. 

And  almost  always  by  an  unknown  hand !  Only  the  terri- 
ble, mysterious  fact  of  death  was  certain.  Accusation  by  secret 
denunciation ;  sentence  without  hearing ;  execution  without 
warning,  mercy,  or  appeal.  In  the  deaths  alone,  terrible  be- 
yond utterance ;  but  in  the  manner  of  death  —  the  secret, 
intangible  doom  from  which  fate  springs  —  more  terrible  still: 
in  the  treachery  which  made  the  neighbor  a  disguised  assassin, 
most  horrible  of  all  the  feuds  and  hates  which  history  portrays. 

And  then  the  wounded,  —  those  who  escaped  the  harder 
fate,  — the  whipped,  the  mangled,  the  bleeding,  the  torn  !  men 
despoiled  of  manhood!  women  gravid  with  dead  children! 
bleeding  backs  1  broken  limbs  !  Ah !  the  wounded  in  this 
silent  warfare  were  more  thousands  than  those  who  groaned, 
upon  the  slopes  of  Gettysburg!  Dwellings  and  schools  and 
churches  burned !  People  driven  from  their  homes,  and  dwell- 
ing in  the  woods  and  fields  !  The  poor,  the  weak,  the  despised, 
maltreated  and  persecuted  —  by  whom?  Always  the  same 
intangible  presence,  the  same  invisible  power.  Well  did  it 
name  itself  "The  Invisible  Empire."  Unseen  and  unknown! 
In  one  State  ten  thousand,  in  another  twenty  thousand,  in 
another  forty  thousand ;  in  all  an  army  greater  than  the 
Rebellion,  from  the  moldering  remains  of  which  it  sprung, 
could  ever  put  into  the  field !  An  Invisible  Empire,  with  a 
trained  and  disciplined  army  of  masked  midnight  marauders, 
making  war  upon  the  weakling  "powers"  which  the  Wise  Men 
had  set  up  in  the  lately  rebellious  territory  I 


THE  HARVEST  OF   WISDOM.  227 

And  then  the  defense!  —  no,  not  the  defense,  —  the  excuse, 
the  avoidance  set  up  to  rebut  the  charge,  to  mitigate  the  guilt! 
Ah,  me  !  it  is  sad,  sadder  almost  than  the  bloody  facts  them- 
selves.    What  is  it? 

"  We  were  rebels  in  arms  :  we  surrendered,  and  by  the  terms 
of  surrender  were  promised  immunity  so  long  as  we  obeyed 
tiie  laws.  This  meant  that  we  should  govern  ourselves  as  of 
old.  Instead  of  this,  they  put  military  officers  over  us;  they 
imposed  disabilities  on  our  best  and  bravest  ;  they  liberated 
our  slaves,  and  gave  them  power  over  us.  Men  born  at  the 
North  came  among  us,  and  were  given  place  and  power  by  the 
votes  of  slaves  and  renegades.  There  were  incompetent  offi- 
cers. The  revenues  of  the  State  were  squandered.  We  were 
taxed  to  educate  the  blacks.  Enormous  debts  were  contracted. 
We  did  not  do  these  acts  of  violence  from  political  motives, 
but  only  because  the  parties  had  made  themselves  obnoxious." 

Alas,  alas  that  a  people  who  had  inaugurated  and  carried 
through  a  great  war  should  come  to  regard  any  thing  as  an 
excuse  for  organized  Thuggism  ! 

Yet  it  was  a  magnificent  sentiment  that  underlay  it  all,  —  an 
unfaltering  determination,  an  invincible  defiance  to  all  that 
had  the  seeming  of  compulsion  or  tyranny.  One  can  not  but 
regard  with  pride  and  sympathy  the  indomitable  men,  who, 
being  conquered  in  war,  yet  resisted  every  effort  of  the  con- 
queror to  change  their  laws,  their  customs,  or  even  the  personnel 
of  their  ruling  class;  and  this,  too,  not  only  with  unyielding 
stubbornness,  but  with  success.  One  can  not  but  admire  the 
arrogant  boldness  with  which  they  charged  the  nation  which 
had  overpowered  them  —  even  in  the  teeth  of  her  legislators  — 
with  perfidy,  malice,  and  a  spirit  of  unworthy  and  contemptible 
revenge.  How  they  laughed  to  scorn  the  Reconstruction  Acts 
of  which  the  Wise  Men  boasted !  How  boldly  they  declared 
the  conflict  to  be  irrepressible,  and  that  white  and  black  could 
not  and  should  not  live  together  as  co-ordinate  ruling  elements! 
How  lightly  they  told  the  tales  of  blood,  —  of  the  Masked 
Night-Riders,  of  the  Invisible  Empire  of  Rifle  Clubs  and  Saber 
Clubs  (all  organized  for  peaceful  purposes),  of  warnings  and 
whippings  and  slaughters!    Ah,  it  is  wonderful  I 


228  A   FOOUS  ERRAND, 

And  then  the  organization  itself,  so  complete,  and  yet  so 
portable  and  elastic  !  So  perfect  in  disguise,  that,  of  the  thou- 
sands of  victims,  scarce  a  score  could  identify  one  of  their 
persecutors !  And  among  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  its 
members,  of  the  few  who  confessed  and  revealed  its  character, 
hardly  one  knew  any  thing  more  than  had  already  been  dis- 
covered ;  or,  if  Tie  knew  it,  did  not  disclose  it !  It  is  all  amazing, 
but  sad  and  terrible.  AVould  that  it  might  be  blotted  out,  or 
disappear  as  a  fevered  dream  before  the  brightness  of  a  new 
day! 

Yet  in  it  we  may  recognize  the  elements  which  should  go 
to  make  up  a  grand  and  kingly  people.  They  felt  themselves 
insulted  and  ox^pressed.  No  matter  whether  they  were  or  not, 
be  the  fact  one  wa}'-  or  another,  it  does  not  affect  their  conduct. 
If  the  Reconstruction  which  the  Wise  Men  ordained  was  un- 
just; if  the  North  was  the  aggressor  and  wrongful  assailant  of 
the  South  in  war;  if,  to  humiliate  and  degrade  her  enemy,  the 
terms  of  surrender  were  falsified,  and  new  and  irritating  con- 
ditions imposed ;  if  the  outcasts  of  Northern  life  were  sent  or 
went  thither  to  encourage  and  induce  the  former  slave  to  act 
against  his  former  master,  — if  all  this  were  true,  it  would  be 
no  more  an  excuse  or  justification  for  the  course  pursued  than 
would  the  fact  that  these  things  were  honestly  believed  to  be 
true  by  the  masses  who  formed  the  rank  and  file  of  this  gro- 
tesquely uniformed  body  of  partisan  cavalry.  In  any  case,  it 
must  be  counted  but  as  the  desperate  effort  of  a  proud,  brave, 
and  determined  people  to  secure  and  hold  what  they  deemed  to 
he  their  rights. 

It  is  sometimes  said,  by  those  who  do  not  comprehend  its 
purpose,  to  have  been  a  base,  cowardly,  and  cruel  barbarism. 
"  What!  "  says  the  Northern  man,  —  who  has  stood  aloof  from 
it  all,  and  with  Pharisaic  assumption,  or  comfortable  ignorance 
of  facts,  denounced  "Ku-Klux,"  "carpet-baggers,"  "scala- 
wags," and  "niggers  "  alike,  —  "  was  it  a  brave  thing,  worthy  of 
a  brave  and  chivalric  people,  to  assail  poor,  weak,  defenseless 
men  and  women  with  overwhelming  forces,  to  terrify,  maltreat, 
and  murder  ?     Is  this  brave  and  commendable  ?  " 


THE   HARVEST  OF   WISDOM.  220 

Ah,  my  friend !  you  quite  mistake.  If  that  were  all  that 
was  intended  and  done,  no,  it  was  not  brave  and  commenda- 
ble. But  it  was  not  alone  the  poor  colored  man  whom  the 
daring  band  of  night-riders  struck,  as  the  falcon  strikes  the 
sparrow;  that  indeed  would  have  been  cowardly:  but  it  was 
the  Nation  which  had  given  the  victim  citizenship  and  power, 
on  whom  their  blow  fell.  It  was  no  brave  thing  in  itself  for 
old  John  Brown  to  seize  the  arsenal  at  Harper's  Ferry;  con- 
sidered as  an  assault  on  the  almost  solitary  watchman,  it  was 
cowardly  in  the  extreme  :  but,  when  we  consider  what  power 
stood  behind  that  powerless  squad,  we  are  amazed  at  the  daring 
of  the  Hero  of  Ossawattomie.  So  it  was  with  this  magnificent 
organization. 

It  was  not  the  individual  negro,  scalawag,  or  carpet-bagger, 
against  whom  the  blow  was  directed,  but  the  power  —  the 
Government — the  idea  which  they  represented.  Not  unfre- 
quently,  the  individual  victim  was  one  toward  whom  the 
individual  members  of  the  Klan  who  executed  its  decree  upon 
him  had  no  little  of  kindly  feeling  and  respect,  but  whose 
influence,  energy,  boldness,  or  official  position,  was  such  as  to 
demand  that  he  should  be  "visited."  In  most  of  its  assaults, 
the  Klan  was  not  instigated  by  cruelty,  nor  a  desire  for 
revenge ;  but  these  were  simply  the  most  direct,  perhaps  the 
only,  means  to  secure  the  end  it  had  in  view.  The  brain,  the 
wealth,  the  chivalric  spirit  of  the  South,  was  restive  uuder 
what  it  deemed  degradation  and  oppression.  This  association 
offered  a  ready  and  effective  method  of  overturning  the  hated 
organization,  and  throwing  off  the  rule  which  had  been  im- 
posed upon  them.  From  the  first,  therefore,  it  spread  like 
wildfire.  It  is  said  that  the  first  organization  was  instituted 
in  May,  or  perhaps  as  late  as  the  1st  of  June,  1868;  yet  by 
August  of  that  year  it  was  firmly  established  in  every  State 
of  the  South.  It  was  builded  upon  an  ineradicable  sentiment 
of  hostility  to  the  negro  as  a  political  integer,  and  a  fierce  de- 
termination that  the  white  people  of  the  South,  or  a  majority 
of  that  race,  should  rule,  — if  not  by  the  power  of  the  ballot, 
then  by  force  of  skill,  brain,  and  the   habit  of  domination. 


230  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

The  bravest  and  strongest  and  best  of  the  South  gave  it  tlieir 
recognition  and  support,  —  in  most  cases  actively,  in  some 
passively.  Thousands  believed  it  a  necessity  to  prevent  an- 
archy and  the  destruction  of  all  valuable  civilization  ;  others 
regarded  it  as  a  means  of  retaliating  upon  the  government, 
which  they  conceived  to  have  oppressed  them;  while  still 
others  looked  to  it  as  a  means  of  acquiring  place  and  power. 

That  it  outgrew  the  designs  of  its  originators  is  more  than 
probable ;  but  the  development  w^as  a  natural  and  unavoidable 
one.  It  is  probable  that  it  was  intended,  at  first,  to  act  solely 
upon  the  superstitious  fears  of  the  ignorant  and  timid  colored 
race.  The  transition  from  moral  to  physical  compulsion  was 
easy  and  natural,  especially  to  a  people  who  did  not  regard 
the  colored  man  as  having  any  inherent  right  to  liberty  and 
self-government,  or  the  personal  privileges  attendant  thereori^ 
but  only  such  right  as  was  conferred  by  a  legislation  which 
was  deemed  at  least  questionable.  The  native  whites  who  had 
identified  themselves  with  that  movement  which  gave  political 
power  to  the  blacks  were  regarded  not  only  as  mercenaries  and 
renegades  who  had  deserted  their  section,  but  also  as  traitors 
to  their  race.  The  Northern  men  who  did  likewise  were 
regarded  as  intruders  and  invaders,  and  believed  to  be  insti- 
gated, not  only  by  the  basest  personal  motives,  but  also  by 
that  concentrated  hate  which  the  Southern  man  always  attrib- 
uted to  the  Northern  opponent  of  slavery.  Unaccustomed  to 
immigration  as  the  South  was,  accustomed,  indeed,  to  regard 
all  strangers  with  suspicion,  until  assured  of  their  harmless- 
ness  as  regarded  the  main  institution  of  their  land,  it  needed 
but  the  conviction  of  oppression,  and  the  chagrin  of  defeat, 
to  make  them  look  upon  every  individual  from  the  hostile 
section  as  an  active  and  virulent  enemy,  whose  claim  of  citizen- 
ship there  was  a  false  pretense,  constituting  the  owner,  in 
effect,  an  emissary  of  the  enemy,  entitled  only  to  the  con- 
sideration and  treatment  of  the  spy. 

All  this  w^as  natural,  and  should  have  been  foreseen  and  acted 
upon  by  the  Wise  INIen  whose  task  it  was  to  reform  the  shat- 
tered nation.     As  it  was  not  done,  however,  and  the  cry  for 


THE   HARVEST  OF    WISDOM.  231 

relief  came  up  from  so  many  thousands,  the  Congress  ap- 
pointed this  committee,  and  enacted  certain  laws  in  regard 
to  the  matter  for  the  protection  of  its  citizens.  At  the  same 
time,  the  various  State  governments  in  the  South  (Mliich,  it 
uill  be  remembered,  had  been  placed  in  power  by  the  new 
political  elements)  began  to  move  in  the  same  direction.  In 
some,  the  Executive  levied  troops,  and  suspended  the  writ  of 
ildbeas  Corpus,  on  the  ground  that  the  power  of  the  State  was 
threatened  and  subverted  by  this  organization.  But  meantime, 
i.nd  before  either  power  had  carried  their  designs  into  practical 
execution,  the  Klan  organization  had  accomplished  its  primary 
object,  the  majority  which  had  pronounced  in  favor  of  the 
Reconstruction  measures  had  been  suppressed  in  quite  a 
number  of  the  States,  and  the  minority  found  themselves  in 
legislative  control.  Instantly,  upon  this  being  ascertained,  the 
power  of  such  States  was  turned  upon  those  who  had  exerted 
extraordinary  powers  to  protect  their  people  from  the  raids  and 
violence  of  the  Klan.  The  governors  of  some  were  impeached 
and  deposed  for  this  cause.  Others  were  threatened  with  the 
same  fate,  and  resigned  to  avoid  it. 

This  new  revolution  which  had  begun  went  on.     The  Klan 
increased  in  numbers  and  in  power, — an  imperium  in  imperio, 

—  until  its  decrees  were  far  more  potent,  and  its  power  more 
dreaded,  than  that  of  the  visible  commonwealths  which  it 
either  dominated  or  terrorized.  This  fact,  together  with  the 
fear  of  the  new  laws  which  had  been  adopted  by  the  National 
Government,  the  authority  of  v.'hich  had  not  then  been  ques- 
tioned, tended  somewhat  to  repress  actual  violence.  Having 
gained  what  was  sought,  —  to  wit,  the  control  of  their  States, 

—  the  leaders  now  exercised  their  authority  to  prevent  further 
raids;  and  the  hostility  against  the  colored  man  and  his  allies 
gradually  died  out  as  these  suppressed  classes  ceased  to  be  a 
political  element  which  need  be  feared,  in  the  struggle  for 
domination.  The  national  law,  moreover,  could  not  extend 
to  the  crimes  perpetrated  before  its  enactment.  They  were 
still  only  cognizable  in  the  State  tribunals,  in  which  it  was 
not  supposed  that  prosecution  would  ever  be  possible.     So  the 


232  A    FOOL'S   ERRAND. 

organization  was  easily  maintained,  lying  quiet  and  unnoticed, 
except  when,  upon  occasions,  it  was  deemed  proper  to  mani- 
fest its  power  to  restrain  or  punish  some  daring  leader  who 
refused* to  obey  the  logic  of  events,  and  give  up  the  contest  for 
the  rule  of  the  majority  of  voters  in  those  States,  instead  of 
the  majority  of  the  White  Leaguers  therein. 

The  revolution  had  been  inaugurated,  and  its  feasibility 
demonstrated.  Henceforth  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  as 
to  its  absolute  and  universal  success  The  rule  of  the  majori- 
ty had  been  overthrown,  the  power  of  the  Government  boldly 
defied,  and  its  penalties  for  crime  successfully  evaded,  that 
the  enfranchisement  of  the  colored  man  might  be  rendered  a 
farce;  and  the  obnoxious  Amendments  and  Reconstruction 
legislation  had  been  shown  to  be  practically  nullified.  Read 
by  the  light  of  other  days,  the  triumph  of  the  ancient  South 
was  incredibly  grand  ;  in  the  then  present  there  was  little 
lacking  to  give  it  completeness;  in  the  future  —  well,  that 
could  take  care  of  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


AN    AWAKENING. 


Lily,  the  one  child  of  Comfort  and  Metta  Servosse,  had 
developed  under  the  Southern  sun,  until,  almost  before  her 
parents  had  noted  the  fact,  she  had  the  rounded  form  and 
softened  outlines  indicative  of  womanhood.  The  atmosphere 
in  which  she  had  lived  had  also  developed  her  mind  not  less 
rapidly.  From  her  infancy  almost,  owing  to  the  peculiar 
circumstances  which  surrounded  their  life,  she  had  been  the 
constant  companion  and  trusted  confidant  of  her  mother. 

Shut  out  from  all  that  may  be  termed  "society"  by  the 
unfortunate  relations  which  her  husband  and  she  herself  sus- 
tained  to   those   around    them,   regarded    either  as    enemies, 


AX  A  WAK i:\IXG.  *233 

intruders,  or  inferiors,  by  those  whose  culture  rendered  their 
society  desirable,  Metta  had  not  soup^ht  to  remove  this  impres- 
sion, but,  acting  upon  her  husband's  advice,  had  calmly  and 
proudly  accepted  the  isolation  thus  imposed  upon  her,  only 
compensating  herself  by  a  more  intimate  and  constant  associa- 
tion with  her  husband,  sharing  his  thoughts,  entering  into  his 
plans  and  purposes,  and  interesting  herself  in  all  that  in- 
terested him.  It  resulted  that  she  took  the  liveliest  interest 
in  all  that  concerned  the  present  and  future  of  that  community 
in  which  they  dwelt.  Side  by  side  with  her  husband  she  had 
digged  into  the  history  of  the  past,  studied  the  development 
of  the  present,  and  earnestly  endeavored  to  find  some  clew 
to  the  clouded  and  obscure  future.  In  this  absorbing  question 
her  heart  had  become  weaned  from  many  of  those  things 
which  constitute  so  much  of  the  ordinary  life  of  woman; 
and,  in  the  society  of  her  husband  and  the  care  and  education 
of  her  daughter,  she  had  almost  ceased  to  miss  those  social 
enjoyments  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  before  their 
migration. 

The  exciting  events  which  had  occurred  around  them  had 
drawn  this  little  family  into  even  closer  relations  with  each 
other  than  this  involuntaiy  isolation  would,  of  itself,  have 
compelled.  The  difficulties  and  dangers  attending  the  Fool's 
life  and  duties  had  woven  themselves  into  the  daily  life  of 
the  wife  and  daughter,  until  they  became  the  one  engrossing 
theme  of  their  thought  and  the  burden  of  their  conversations. 
During  his  absence,  anxiety  for  his  safety,  and,  during  his 
presence,  thankfulness  for  his  preservation,  filled  their  hearts. 
Kvery  act  of  violence  perpetrated  by  the  mysterious  enemy 
which  lay  hidden  all  about  them  was  one  more  evidence  of 
the  peril  which  surrounded  him  on  whom  all  their  hopes  were 
centered.  Kvery  call  of  duty  which  took  him  from  their  sight 
was  another  trial  of  their  faith  in  the  great  Deliverer.  Every 
absence  and  every  return  increased  the  intensity  of  their 
anxiety,  and  fixed  their  minds  more  exclusively  upon  those 
events  which  were  passing  day  by  day  about  them.  Each 
farewell  came  to  have  the  solemnity  of  a  death-bed,  and  each 
return,  the  solemn  jny  of  an  unexpected  resurrection. 


234  A    FOOLS  ERRAND. 

In  this  furnace-blast  of  excitement  and  apprehension  the 
young  girl's  heart  and  mind  had  matured  even  more  rapidly 
than  her  person.  A  prudence  unknown  to  one  of  her  years 
who  had  lived  in  quiet  times  and  under  other  conditions  of 
society,  had  come  to  be  habitual  with  her.  The  constant 
apprehension  of  attack  from  the  masked  marauders  had  famil- 
iarized her  with  danger,  and  given  her  a  coolness  and  decision 
of  character  which  nothing  else  could  have  developed.  She 
had  seen  the  dread  cavalcade  pass  in  the  dim  moonlight,  and 
had  stood  at  her  chamber-window,  revolver  in  hand,  prepared 
to  take  part  in  the  expected  defense  of  their  home.  She  had 
learned  to  watch  for  danger,  to  see  that  all  precautions  were 
adopted  against  it,  to  be  cautious  what  she  said,  and  to  whom 
she  said  it,  to  weigh  wdth  suspicious  doubt  the  words  and  acts 
of  all  w^hom  she  met.  Many  a  time,  while  yet  a  mere  child, 
she  had  been  called  upon  to  be  her  mother's  consoler  in  seasons 
of  doubt  and  apprehended  danger.  A  thousand  times  she  had 
seen  the  dull  gray  look  of  agonized  foreboding  steal  into  the 
loved  face,  and  had  bravely  undertaken  the  duty  of  lightening 
the  mother's  woe.  All  this  had  ripened  her  mind  with  won- 
derful  rapidity. 

As  she  had  shared  the  anxieties  and  perils  of  her  parents, 
she  had  participated  also  in  their  joys.  She  had  early  been 
trained  to  the  saddle  ;  and,  from  the  very  outset  of  their  life 
in  the  new  home,  her  pony  had  been  the  frequent  companion 
of  both  Lollard  and  Jaca  in  many  a  long  ride.  As  she  grew 
older,  the  pony  gave  way  to  her  own  petted  mare ;  and  a  more 
easy,  graceful,  and  daring  rider  it  was  hard  to  find,  even  in 
that  region  of  unrivaled  horsemen  and  horsewomen.  She  had 
also  been  trained  to  the  use  of  arms,  and  handled  both  rifle 
and  revolver,  not  only  without  fear,  but  with  readiness  and 
precision- 

In  person  she  was  by  no  means  unattractive.  She  had  the 
lithe,  trim  figure  of  her  mother,  and,  united  with  it,  that  soft- 
ness of  outline,  delicacy  of  color,  and  ease  and  grace  of 
carriage  which  the  free,  untrammeled  life,  and  soft,  kindly 
climate  of   that  region,  give  in  such  rich    measure   to    those 


AN  AWAKENING.  235 

reared  under  their  influences.  Her  eyes  were  of  that  deep 
blue  which  evinces  fortitude  and  sincerity;  while  her  luxuriant 
hair  took  the  character  of  its  hue  from  the  light  in  which  it 
was  viewed,  —  "  golden  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  shadow  brown," 
and,  touched  by  the  moonbeam,  a  spray  of  tinted  silver. 
It  had  been  the  joy  and  pride  of  the  fond  mother.  Shears 
had  never  marred  its  glossy  sheen  ;  and  it  had  rarely  felt  the 
restraint  of  twist  or  braid,  but  had  l^ung  naturally  about  the 
child's  shoulders,  until  it  fell,  in  a  rippling  cascade,  to  her 
waist.  To  these  personal  attributes  Lily  joined  a  sunniness 
of  temper,  a  sparkle  and  vivacity  of  mind,  inherited  from  far- 
away French  ancestors,  which  seemed  to  have  been  brought 
out  by  the  sunny  brightness  of  the  kindred  clime  in  which  she 
had  been  reared.  These  charms  combined  to  render  her  an 
exceedingly  piquant  and  charming  maiden  ;  so  that,  as  she 
rode  here  and  there  with  her  parents,  or  scrambled  about  the 
shady  bridle-paths  of  the  adjacent  country  alone,  her  beauty 
came  to  be  remarked.  The  young  people  of  the  vicinity  began 
shyly  to  court  her  presence,  and  finally  opened  their  social 
circles  and  their  hearts  to  her,  only  regretting  that  her  parents 
were  not  "our  people,"  and  kindly  exercising  more  or  less 
forgetfulness  of  her  origin.  ^ 

Among  those  who  had  seen  and  admired  the  bright  presence 
which  reigned  supreme  at  Warrington  was  Melville  Gurney, 
the  son  of  General  Marion  Gurney  of  Pultowa  County,  adjoining 
that  in  which  the  Fool  resided.  Young  Gurney  was  a  splendid 
specimen  of  the  stock  of  Southern  gentlemen  from  which  he 
sprung,  being  tall  and  commanding  in  person,  of  that  easy 
grace  which  is  rarely  matched  in  other  portions  of  the  country, 
and  admirably  adapted  to  excel  in  field-sports,  in  all  of  which 
he  was  an  acknowledged  proficient.  His  early  youth  had  cov- 
ered the  period  of  the  war,  in  which  his  father  had  won  no 
little  renown,  and  before  his  sixteenth  birthday  he  had  run 
away  from  home,  riding  his  own  horse,  to  take  part  in  the  last 
campaign  of  Early  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  where  his 
father's  command  was  engaged.  After  the  last  defeat  he  found 
his  father  lying  wounded  in  a  Federal  hospital,  and  by  unre- 


236  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

mitting  exertion  saved  him  from  fatal  prostration,  and  brought 
him  home  to  slow  but  certain  recovery.  The  daring  youngster 
could  not,  after  that,  confine  himself  to  the  dull  routine  of  the 
college;  but  in  his  father's  library,  and  afterwards  in  his  office, 
he  had  received  a  culture  not  less  complete,  although  very  dif- 
ferent from  what  he  would  have  gathered  in  the  course  of  a 
collegiate  career.  This  young  man,  bold,  active,  and  endowed 
with  a  superabundant  vitality,  had  met  the  little  lady  of  War- 
rington at  a  festive  gathering  near  his  father's  home  a  few 
months  before  the  time  to  which  our  story  has  advanced,  and, 
with  the  frank  impetuosity  characteristic  of  his  nativity,  had 
forthwith  testified  his  admiration,  and  asked  an  invitation  to 
Warrington. 

That  the  young  girl  should  be  flattered  by  the  attentions  of 
so  charming  a  cavalier,  was  but  natural.  It  was  the  first  time, 
however,  that  she  had  been  asked  to  extend  the  hospitalities  of 
her  father's  house  to  any  of  her  associates,  and  at  once  the 
anomalous  position  in  which  they  stood  to  those  by  whom  they 
were  surrounded  forced  itself  upon  her  thought.  Her  face 
flushed  for  an  instant,  and  then,  looking  up  quietly  into  his, 
she  said,  — 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Gumey?  Would  you  really  like 
to  visit  Warrington?  " 

The  inquiry  brought  the  young  man  to  a  serious  considera- 
tion of  his  own  request.  When  he  had  first  preferred  it,  he 
had  thought  only  of  the  fair  creature  by  his  side :  now,  he 
thought  of  a  thousand  incidents  which  might  flow  from  it. 
Bold  almost  to  recklessness,  he  was  sincere  almost  to  bluntness 
also,  even  with  himself :  therefore,  ready  as  he  would  have  been 
with  the  words  of  a  mere  outward  politeness,  he  honestly  hesi- 
tated before  answering  the  question.  Instantly  the  quick  per- 
ceptions and  natural  pride  of  the  "carpet-bagger's"  daughter 
were  aroused;  and  she  said  somewhat  haughtily,  but  with  a 
studied  courtesy  of  tone,  — 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Gumey,  that  your  request  was  merely  intended  as 
an  empty  compliment,  which  it  is  not  worth  the  trouble  either 
to  accept  or  decline.     Excuse  me,"  —  and,  having  already  re- 


AN  AWAKENING.  237 

moved  her  hand  from  his  arm,  she  bowed  lightly,  and  turned 
with  a  smile  to  begin  a  lively  conversation  with  a  friend  who 
stood  near. 

The  incident  showed  such  coolness  and  self-control,  as  well  as 
frank  sincerity,  that  the  admiration  of  Melville  Gurney  was 
increased  rather  than  diminished  thereby.  He  did  not  regard 
it  as  a  rebuff,  but  as  a  self-respecting  assertion  that  one  who 
doubted  as  to  the  propriety  of  visiting  her  father's  house  had  no 
right  to  prefer  such  a  request  to  her.  So  he  did  not  approach 
her  again  during  the  evening,  but  watched  her  attentively. 
And  the  next  day,  when  he  saw  her  pass  his  father's  office, 
mounted  upon  Lollard  (now  full  of  years,  but  still  a  horse 
of  magnificent  action  and  unabated  fire),  her  fair  hair  falling 
free  over  her  dark  habit  until  it  almost  touched  the  glossy 
coat  of  her  steed,  each  fiber  transformed  by  the  sunlight  into  a 
gleaming  thread  of  gold,  he  began  to  feel  something  of  regret 
that  he  had  not  answered  her  question,  and  pressed  for  an 
answer  to  his  request. 

General  Gurney  was  as  active  and  prominent  a  political 
leader  upon  the  other  side  as  the  Fool  was  upon  his,  and  was 
looked  upon  as  a  ]3artisan  of  similar  intensity  of  conviction. 
Both  were  pronounced  and  positive  men.  They  were  well- 
matched  opponents  too,  had  more  than  once  met  upon  the 
stump,  and  had  served  together  in  public  bodies.  There  was 
that  acquaintance  between  them  which  such  association  gives, 
without  further  personal  relations,  and  perhaps  something  of 
that  esteem  which  is  sure  to  prevail  between  men  often  pitted 
against  each  other  without  decisive  victory.  The  general  was 
the  representative  of  an  old  and  honored  family,  and  felt,  with 
the  utmost  keenness,  the  degradation  resulting  from  defeat, 
and  the  subsequent  elevation  of  the  colored  man  to  a  position 
of  political  co-ordination  Mith  the  white  race.  He  had  married 
early;  Melville  was  the  oldest  child,  and  on  him  the  hopes, 
aspirations,  and  love  of  the  father  were  centered  in  an  unusual 
degree. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Colonel  Servosse,  Pa  ? "  asked  the 
son  a  few  moments  after  Lily  had  passed. 


238  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"Think  about  him?  That  he  is  the  worst  Radical  in  the 
State.  He  has  the  most  ineradicable  hate  of  every  thing 
Southern  that  I  have  ever  known,"  answered  the  father. 

"  But  aside  from  his  politics,  —  as  a  man,  Pa,  what  do  you 
think  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh!  as  a  man  he  is  well  enough  ;  in  fact,  better  than  I  could 
wish.  Personally  there  seems  to  be  no  weak  spot  in  his  armor. 
They  did  try  to  make  some  attack  upon  his  character ;  but  no 
one  really  believed  it,  and  I  am  of  the  notion  that  it  did  us 
more  harm  than  good.  I  never  did  believe  it,  though  I  have 
sometimes  hinted  at  it,  just  because  I  saw  that  I  could  get 
under  his  hide  in  no  other  way.  He  is  the  coolest  and  most 
collected  man  I  have  ever  met  in  public  life." 

"  Is  he  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"Well  — yes,  in  a  Northern  sense,"  answered  the  father.  "I 
have  no  doubt  that  if  he  had  staid  at  the  North,  and  I  had 
known  him  as  a  Northern  man,  I  should  have  enjoyed  him 
thoroughly.  Everybody  who  is  acquainted  with  him  admits 
that  he  has  fine  social  qualities.  He  is  somewhat  reserved  to 
strangers.  He  is  a  man  of  decided  ability  and  culture,  and  I 
count  him  one  of  the  most  dangerous  Radicals  in  the  State. 
But  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Well,  I  thought  I  would  like  to  know  all  sides  of  him," 
replied  the  son.  "  I  had  read  so  much  of  him,  and  had  heard 
you  speak  of  him  so  often  in  a  semi-public  manner,  that  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  know  your  actual  opinion  in  regard  to 
him." 

"  That's  right.  You  ought  to  learn  every  thing  you  can  of  a 
man  of  his  mark.  You  will  meet  his  influence  in  the  State  as 
long  as  you  live.  He  has  left  an  impress  upon  it  that  would 
remain,  even  if  he  should  die  to-morrow." 

Soon  afterwards  Melville  Gurney  wrote  a  note  to  Lily  Ser- 
vosse,  which  contained  only  these  words  :  — 

"  Miss  Lily,  —  Will  you  allow  me,  after  mature  deliberation, 
to  renew  the  request  which  1  made  to  you  ? 

"  Respectfully, 

"Melville  Gurxey." 


AN  AWAKENING.  239 

Lily  took  this  to  her  mother,  and  told  her  all  that  had  oc- 
curred. For  the  first  time  the  mother  realized  that  her  daugh- 
ter was  growing  into  womanhood.  The  blushes  which  accom- 
panied hsr  narrative  told  that  her  heart  was  awakened.  It 
seemed  but  a  little  while  since  she  was  only  a  prattling  child ; 
but  now,  as  the  mother  looked  on  her  budding  beauty,  she 
could  but  admit,  with  a  pang  of  sorrow,  that  the  days  of  girl- 
hood were  over,  that  the  summer  of  love  had  come,  and  that 
her  pretty  bird  was  but  pluming  her  wings  for  the  inevitable 
flight.  Like  a  prudent  mother,  she  determined  to  do  nothing 
to  hasten  this  result,  and  yet  to  so  act  as  to  keep  her  daughter's 
confidence  as  implicit  and  spontaneous  as  it  had  hitherto  been. 
So  she  only  kissed  the  girl's  blushing  cheek,  asking  lightly,  — 

"  And  would  you  like  to  have  him  come?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma,"  answered  Lily  artlessly.  "  I  would 
like  to  be  more  like  —  like  our  neighbors,  and  have  more  young 
companions." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  my  daughter,"  answered  the  mother.  So 
it  resulted,  that,  a  few  weeks  after,  a  party  was  given  at  War- 
rington, and  Mr.  Melville  Gurney,  with  several  others  of  Lily's 
friends  in  Pultowa,  received  an  invitation  to  be  present.  Metta 
did  not  see  fit  to  confide  any  thing  of  this  to  the  Fool,  who  only 
knew  that  young  Gurney  came  with  others  to  a  party  given  for 
his  daughter's  pleasure.  It  was  the  first  time  that  wife  or 
daughter  had  ever  had  a  secret  which  the  husband  and  father 
had  not  shared. 

Mr.  Denton,  the  district-attorney,  whose  letter  to  Comfort 
Servosse  has  already  been  given  to  the  reader,  had  been  elected 
a  judge  of  the  State  courts,  and  had  recently,  before  the  period 
at  which  we  have  now  arrived,  been  very  active  in  his  efforts  to 
suppress  the  operation  of  the  Klan,  and  punish  those  engaged 
in  its  raids.  By  so  doing,  he  had  incurred  the  hostility  of  the 
Klan  at  large,  and  especially  of  that  portion  with  w4iich  the 
^suspected  parties  had  been  actually  connected.  There  had 
long  been  threats  and  denunciations  afloat  in  regard  to  him; 
but  he  was  a  brave  man,  who  did  not  turn  aside  from  the  path 


240  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

of  his  duty  for  any  obstacles,  and  ^vho,  while  he  did  not  despise 
the  power  of  the  organization  which  he  had  taken  by  the  throat, 
was  yet  utterly  oblivious  to  threats  of  personal  violence.  He 
would  do  his  duty,  though  the  heavens  fell.  This  was  a  fact 
well  known  and  recognized  by  all  who  knew  him ;  and  for  this 
very  reason,  most  probably,  it  was  generally  believed  that  he 
would  be  put  out  of  the  way  by  the  Klan  before  the  time  for 
the  trial  of  its  members  arrived. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  the  Fool  received  a 
telegram  from  Judge  Denton,  requesting  him  to  come  to  Ver- 
denton  on  a  certain  day,  and  go  with  him  to  his  home  in  an 
adjoining  county.  It  was  seven  miles  from  Glenville,  the 
nearest  railroad-station,  to  the  plantation  of  Judge  Denton. 
To  reach  it,  the  chief  river  of  that  region  had  to  be  crossed  on 
a  long  wooden  bridge,  four  miles  from  the  station.  The  Fool 
accepted  this  invitation,  and  with  Metta  drove  into  Verdenton 
on  the  day  named. 

The  raih'oad  which  ran  nearest  to  the  home  of  Judge  Denton 
connected  at  an  acute  angle  with  that  on  which  he  was  to 
arrive  at  Verdenton.  Between  the  two  was  the  residence  of 
Colonel  Servosse,  six  miles  from  Verdenton,  and  sixteen  from 
Glenville. 

The  train  left  Verdenton  at  eight  and  a  half  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  ran  to  the  junction,  where  it  awaited  the  coming 
of  the  northward-bound  train  on  the  other  road ;  so  that  they 
would  not  arrive  at  Glenville  until  ten  o'clock,  and  would  reach 
the  river-bridge  about  eleven,  and  the  judge's  mansion  perhaps 
a  half-hour  later.  By  previous  arrangement,  his  carriage 
would  meet  them  at  the  station.  Metta  intended  to  remain 
until  the  train  reached  Verdenton,  and  bring  home  a  friend 
who  was  expected  to  arrive  upon  it. 

Lily  remained  at  home.  She  was  the  "  only  white  person  on 
the  lot,"  to  use  the  familiar  phrase  of  that  region,  which  means 
that  upon  her  rested  all  the  responsibility  of  the  house.  The 
existence  of  a  servile,  or  recently  servile  race,  devolves  upon 
the  children  at  a  very  early  age  a  sort  of  vice-regal  power  in 
the    absence   of   the  parents.     They  are   expected   to  see  that 


AN  A  WAKENING.  241 

" every  thing  goes  on  right  on  the  plantation"  and  about  the 
house  in  such  absence;  and  their  commands  are  as  readily 
obeyed  by  the  servants  and  employees  as  those  of  their  elders. 
It  is  this  early  familiarity  with  the  affairs  of  the  parents,  and 
ready  assumption  of  responsibility,  which  give  to  the  youth  of 
the  South  that  air  of  self-control,  and  readiness  to  assume  com- 
mand of  whatever  matter  he  may  be  engaged  in.  It  is  thus 
that  they  are  trained  to  rule.  To  this  training,  in  large  meas- 
ure, is  due  the  fact,  that,  during  all  the  ante  helium  period,  the 
Southern  minority  dominated  and  controlled  the  government, 
monopolized  its  honors  and  emoluments,  and  dictated  its  policy, 
in  spite  of  an  overwhelming  and  hostile  majority  at  the  North. 
The  Southrons  are  the  natural  rulers,  leaders,  and  dictators  of 
the  country,  as  later  events  have  conclusively  proved. 

It  was  just  at  sundown,  and  Lily  was  sitting  on  the  porch 
at  Warrington,  watching  the  sunset  glow,  when  a  horseman 
came  in  sight,  and  rode  up  to  the  gate.  After  a  moment's 
scrutiny  of  the  premises,  he  seemed  satisfied,  and  uttered  the 
usual  halloo  which  it  is  customary  for  one  to  give  who  desires 
to  communicate  with  the  household  in  that  country.  Lily 
rose,  and  advanced  to  the  steps. 

"Here's  a  letter,"  said  the  horseman,  as  he  held  an  envelope 
up  to  view,  and  then,  as  she  started  down  the  steps,  threw  it 
over  the  gate  into  the  avenue,  and,  wheeling  his  horse,  cantered 
easily  away.  Lily  picked  up  the  letter.  It  was  directed  in  a 
coarse,  sprawling  hand,  — 

"  Colonel  Comfort  Servosse, 

"  Warrington." 

In  the  lower  left  hand-corner,  in  a  more  compact  and  busi- 
ness-like hand,  were  written  the  words,  "  Read  at  once."  Lily 
read  the  superscription  carelessly  as  she  went  up  the  broad 
avenue.  It  awakened  no  curiosity  in  her  mind;  but,  after  she 
had  resumed  her  seat  on  the  porch,  it  occurred  to  her  that 
both  the  messenger  and  his  horse  were  unknown  to  her.  The 
former  was  a  white  lad  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age, 
whom  she  might  very  well   fail   to  recognize.     What  struck 


242  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

her  as  peculiar  was  the  fact  that  he  was  evidently  unacquainted 
with  Warrington,  which  was  a  notable  place  in  the  country; 
and  a  lad  of  that  age  could  hardly  be  found  in  a  circuit  of 
many  miles  who  could  not  have  directed  the  traveler  to  it. 
It  was  evident  from  the  demeanor  of  this  one,  that,  when  he 
first  rode  up,  he  was  uncertain  whether  he  had  reached  his 
destination,  and  had  only  made  sure  of  it  by  recognizing  some 
specific  object  which  had  been  described  to  him.  In  other 
words,  he  had  been  traveling  on  what  is  known  in  that  country 
as  a  "  way-bill,"  or  a  description  of  a  route  received  from 
another. 

Then  she  remembered  that  she  had  not  recognized  the  horse, 
which  was  a  circumstance  somewhat  remarkable;  for  it  was  an 
iron-gray  of  notable  form  and  action.  Her  love  of  horses  led 
her  instinctively  to  notice  those  which  she  saw,  and  her  daily 
rides  had  made  her  familiar  with  every  good  horse  in  a  circle 
of  many  miles.  Besides  this,  she  had  been  accustomed  to  go 
almost  everywhere  with  her  father,  when  he  had  occasion  to 
make  journeys  not  requiring  more  than  a  day's  absence.  So 
that  it  was  quite  safe  to  say  that  she  knew  by  sight  at  least 
twice  as  many  horses  as  people. 

These  reflections  caused  her  to  glance  again,  a  little  curi- 
ously, at  the  envelope.  It  occurred  to  her,  as  she  did  so, 
that  the  superscription  was  in  a  disguised  hand.  Her  father 
had  received  so  many  letters  of  that  character,  all  of  threat  or 
warning,  that  the  bare  suspicion  of  that  fact  aroused  at  once 
the  apprehension  of  evil  or  danger.  While  she  had  been 
thinking,  the  short  Southern  twilight  had  given  place  to  the 
light  of  the  full  moon  rising  in  the  East.  She  went  into  the 
house,  and,  calling  for  a  light,  glanced  once  more  at  the  en- 
velope, and  then  broke  the  seal.     It  read, — 

"  Colonel  Servosse,  —  A  raid  of  K.K.  has  been  ordered 
to  intercept  Judge  Denton  on  his  way  home  to-night  (the  23d 
inst.).  It  is  understood  that  he  has  telegraphed  to  you  to 
accompany  him  home.  Do  not  do  it.  If  you  can  by  any 
means,  give  him  warning.    It  is  a  big  raid,  and  means  business. 


AN  AWAKENING.  243 

The  decree  is,  that  he  shall  be  tied,  placed  in  the  middle  of 
the  bridge  across  the  river,  the  planks  taken  up  on  each  side, 
so  as  to  prevent  a  rescue,  and  the  bridge  set  on  fire.  I  send 
this  warning  for  your  sake.  Do  not  trust  the  telegraph.  I 
sliall  try  to  send  this  by  a  safe  hand,  but  tremble  lest  it  should 
be  too  late.  I  dare  not  sign  my  name,  but  subscribe  myself 
your 

"  UxKxowx   Friend." 

The  young  girl  stood  for  a  moment  paralj^zed  with  horror 
at  the  danger  which  threatened  her  father.  It  did  not  once 
occur  to  her  to  doubt  the"  w^arning  she  had  received.  She 
glanced  at  the  timepiece  upon  the  mantel.  The  hands  pointed 
to  eight  o'clock. 

"  Too  late,  too  late !  "  she  cried  as  she  clasped  her  hands, 
and  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  in  prayerful  agony.  She  saw 
that  she  could  not  reach  Verdenton  in  time  to  prevent  their 
taking  the  train,  and  she  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  telegraph 
afterwards.  It  was  evident  that  the  wires  w^ere  imder  the 
control  of  the  Kl'an,  and  there  was  no  probability  that  a 
message  would  be  delivered,  if  sent,  in  time  to  prevent  the 
catastrophe. 

"  O  my  dear,  dear  papa !  "  she  cried,  as  she  realized  more 
fully  the  danger.  "  O  God !  can  nothing  be  done  to  save 
him!" 

Then  a  new  thought  flashed  upon  her  mind.  She  ran  to  the 
back  porch,  and  called  sharply,  but  quietly, — 

"William!     6>/i,  ^AM]liam  !  " 

A  voice  in  the  direction  of  the  stables  answered,  — 

"  Ma'am  V  " 

"  Come  here  at  once." 

"  Oh,  Maggie  !  "  she  called. 

"  Ma'am  ?  "  from  the  kitchen. 

"Bring  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  some  biscuits,  and  an  egg  — 
quick  !  " 

"  Law  sakes,  chile,  what  makes  ye  in  sech  a  hurry?  Supper 
'11  be  ready  direckly  Miss  Mettie  gits  home.  Can't  yer  wait  ?  " 
answered  the  colored  woman  querulously. 


244  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

"Never  mind.  I'll  do  without  it,  if  it  troubles  you,"  said 
Lily  quietly. 

"Bress  my  soul  I  No  trouble  at  all.  Miss  Lily,"  said  the 
woman,  entirely  mollified  by  the  soft  answer.  "  On'y  I  couldn't 
see  what  made  yer  be  in  sech  a  powerful  hurry.  Ye'se  hev  'em 
in  a  minit,  honey." 

"  William,"  said  Lily,  as  the  stable-boy  appeared,  "  put  my 
saddle  on  Young  Lollard,  and  bring  him  round  as  quick  as 
possible." 

"  But  Miss  Lily,  you  know  dat  hoss  "  —  the  servant  began 
to  expostulate. 

"I  know  all  about  him,  William.  Don't  wait  to  talk.  Bring 
him  out." 

"  All  right,  Miss  Lily,"  he  replied,  with  a  bow  and  a  scrape. 
But,  as  he  went  toward  the  stable,  he  soliloquized  angrily, 
"  Now,  what  for  Miss  Lily  want  to  ride  dat  pertickerler  hoss, 
you  s'pose  ?  Never  did  afore.  Nobody  but  de  kunnel  ebber 
on  his  back,  an'  he  hab  his  hands  full  wid  him  sometimes. 
Dese  furrer-bred  bosses  jes'  de  debbil  anyhow !  Dar's  dat 
Young  Lollard  now,  it's  jest  'bout  all  a  man's  life's  wuth  ter  rub 
him  down,  an'  saddle  him.  Why  can't  she  take  de  ole  un! 
Here  you,  Lollard,  come  outen  dat! " 

He  threw  open  the  door  of  the  log-stable  where  the  horse 
had  his  quarters,  as  he  spoke,  and  almost  instantly,  with  a 
short,  vicious  whinney,  a  powerful  dark-brown  horse  leaped 
into  the  moonlight,  and  with  ears  laid  back  upon  his  sinuous 
neck,  white  teeth  bare,  and  thin,  blood-red  nostrils  distended, 
rushed  towards  the  servant,  who,  with  a  loud,  "Dar  now! 
Look  at  him!  Whoa!  See  de  dam  rascal ! "  retreated  quickly 
behind  the  door.  The  horse  rushed  once  or  twice  around 
the  little  stable-yard,  and  then  stopped  suddenly  beside  his 
keeper,  and  stretched  out  his  head  for  the  bit,  quivering  in 
every  limb  w^ith  that  excess  of  vitality  which  only  the  thor- 
ough-bred horse  ever  exhibits.  He  was  anxious  for  the  bit 
and  saddle,  because  they  meant  exercise,  a  race,  an  opportunity 
to  show  his  speed,  which  the  thorough-bred  recognizes  as  the 
one  great  end  of  his  existence. 


AN  AWAKENING.  245 

Before  the  horse  was  saddled,  Lily  had  donned  her  ridinc:- 
habit,  put  a  revolver  in  her  belt,  as  she  very  frequently  did 
when  riding  alone,  swallowed  a  hasty  supper,  scrawled  a  short 
note  to  her  mother  on  the  envelope  of  the  letter  she  had 
received,  —  which  she  charged  William  at  once  to  cany  to 
lier,  —  and  was  ready  to  start  on  a  night-ride  to  Glenville.  She 
had  only  been  there  across  the  country  once;  but  she  thought 
she  knew  the  way,  or  was  at  least  so  familiar  with  the  "  lay  " 
of  the  country  that  she  could  find  it- 

The  brawny  groom  with  difficulty  held  the  restless  horse 
by  the  bit ;'  but  the  slight  girl,  who  stood  upon  the  block  with 
pale  face  and  set  teeth,  gathered  the  reins  in  her  hand,  leaped 
fearlessly  into  the  saddle,  found  the  stirrup,  and  said,  "  Let  him 
go !  "  without  a  quaver  in  her  voice.  The  man  loosed  his  hold. 
The  horse  stood  upright,  and  pawed  the  air  for  a  moment 
with  his  feet,  gave  a  few  mighty  leaps  to  make  sure  of  his 
liberty,  and  then,  stretching  out  his  neck,  bounded  forward  in 
a  race  which  would  require  all  the  mettle  of  his  endless  line 
of  noble  sires.  Almost  without  words,  her  errand  had  become 
known  to  the  household  of  servants;  and  as  she  flew  down 
the  road,  her  bright  hair  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  old 
Maggie,  sobbing  and  tearful,  was  yet  so  impressed  with  admi- 
ration, that  she  could  only  say,  — 

"De  Lor'  bress  her!  Tears  like  dat  chile  ain't  'fear'd  o' 
noffin' ! " 

As  she  was  borne  like  an  arrow  down  the  avenue,  and  turned 
into  the  Glenville  road,  Lily  heard  the  whistle  of  the  train  as 
it  left  the  depot  at  Verdenton,  and  knew  that  upon  her  cool- 
ness and  resolution  alone  depended  the  life  of  her  father. 


246  A    FOOUS  ERRAXD. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

A   RACE    AGAINST    TIME, 


It  was,  perhaps,  well  for  the  accomplishment  of  her  pur- 
pose, that,  for  some  time  after  setting  out  on  her  perilous 
journey,  Lily  Servosse  had  enough  to  do  to  maintain  her  seat, 
and  guide  and  control  her  horse.  Young  Lollard,  whom  the 
servant  had  so  earnestly  remonstrated  against  her  taking, 
added  to  the  noted  pedigree  of  his  sire  the  special  excellences 
of  the  Glencoe  strain  of  his  dam,  from  whom  he  inherited 
also  a  darker  coat,  and  that  touch  of  native  savageness  which 
characterizes  the  stock  of  Emancipator.  Upon  both  sides  his 
blood  was  as  pure  as  that  of  the  great  kings  of  the  turf,  and 
what  we  have  termed  his  savagery  was  more  excess  of  spirit 
than  any  inclination  to  do  mischief.  It  was  that  uncontrolla- 
ble desire  of  the  thorough-bred  horse  to  be  always  doing  his 
best,  which  made  him  restless  of  the  bit  and  curb,  while  the 
native  sagacity  of  his  race  had  led  him  to  practice  somewhat 
on  the  fears  of  his  groom.  With  that  care  which  only  the 
true  lover  of  the  horse  can  appreciate,  Colonel  Servosse  had 
watched  over  the  growth  and  training  of  Young  Lollard, 
hoping  to  see  him  rival,  if  he  did  not  surpass,  the  excellences 
of  his  sire.  In  every  thing  but  temper,  he  had  been  gratified 
at  the  result.  In  build,  power,  speed,  and  endurance,  the 
horse  offered  all  that  the  most  fastidious  could  desire.  In 
order  to  prevent  the  one  defect  of  a  quick  temper  from 
developing  into  a  vice,  the  colonel  had  established  an  inflexi- 
ble rule  that  no  one  should  ride  him  but  himself.  His 
great  interest  in  the  colt  had  led  Lily,  who  inherited  all  her 
father's  love  for  the  noble  animal,  to  look  very  carefully 
during  his  enforced  absences  after  the  welfare  of  his  favorite. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  summarily  discharged  grooms  who 
were  guilty  of  disobeying  her  father's  injunctions,  and  had 


A   RACE  AGAINST   TIME.  247 

always  made  it  a  rule  to  visit  his  stall  every  day ;  so  that, 
although  she  had  never  ridden  him,  the  horse  was  familiar 
with  her  person  and  voice. 

It  was  well  for  her  that  this  was  the  case;  for,  as  he 
dashed  away  with  the  speed  of  the  wind,  she  felt  how  power- 
less she  was  to  restrain  him  by  means  of  the  bit.  Nor  did  she 
attempt  it.  Merely  feeling  his  mouth,  and  keeping  her  eye 
upon  the  road  before  him,  in  order  that  no  sudden  start  to 
right  or  left  should  take  her  by  surprise,  she  coolly  kept  her 
seat,  and  tried  to  soothe  him  by  her  voice. 

With  head  outstretched,  and  sinewy  neck  strained  to  its 
uttermost,  he  flew  over  the  ground  in  a  wild,  mad  race  with  the 
evening  wind,  as  it  seemed.  AVithout  jerk  or  strain,  but  easily 
and  steadily  as  the  falcon  flies,  the  highbred  horse  skimmed 
along  the  ground.  A  mile,  two,  three  miles  were  made,  in  time 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  the  staying  quality  of  his  sires, 
and  still  his  pace  had  not  slackened.  He  was  now  nearing  tho 
river  into  which  fell  the  creek  that  ran  by  Warrington  As 
he  went  dow^n  the  long  slope  that  led  to  the  ford,  his  rider 
tried  in  vain  to  check  his  speed.  Pressure  upon  the  bit  but 
resulted  in  an  impatient  shaking  of  the  head,  and  laying  back 
of  the  ears.  He  kept  up  his  magnificent  stride  until  he  had 
reached  the  very  verge  of  the  river.  There  he  stopped,  threw 
up  his  head  in  inquiry,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  fretted  waters 
lighted  up  by  the  full  moon,  glanced  back  at  his  rider,  and, 
with  a  word  of  encouragement  from  her,  marched  proudly  into 
the  waters,  casting  up  a  silvery  spray  at  every  step.  Lily  did 
not  miss  this  opportunity  to  establish  more  intimate  relations 
with  her  steed.  She  patted  his  neck,  praised  him  lavishly, 
and  took  occasion  to  assume  control  of  him  while  he  was  in 
the  deepest  part  of  the  channel,  turning  him  this  way  and  that 
much  more  than  was  needful,  simply  to  accustom  him  to  obey 
her  will. 

When  he  came  out  on  the  other  bank,  he  w^ould  have 
resumed  his  gallop  almost  at  once;  but  she  required  him  to 
walk  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  night  was  growing  chilly  by 
this  time.     As  the  wind  struck  her  at  the  hill-top,  she  remem- 


248  A   FOOVS   ERRAND. 

bered  that  she  had  thrown  a  hooded  waterproof  about  hei 
before  starting.  She  stopped  her  horse,  and,  taking  off  her 
hat,  gathered  her  long  hair  into  a  mass,  and  thrust  it  into  the 
hood,  ^Yhich  she  drew  over  her  head,  and  pressed  her  hat  down 
on  it;  tlien  she  gathered  the  reins,  and  they  went  on  in  that 
long,  steady  stride  which  marks  the  highbred  horse  when  he 
gets  thoroughly  down  to  his  work.  Once  or  twice  she  drew 
rein  to  examine  the  landmarks,  and  determine  which  road  to 
take.  Sometimes  her  way  lay  through  the  forest,  and  she  was 
startled  by  the  cry  of  the  owl ;  anon  it  was  through  the  reedy 
bottom-land,  and  the  half-wuld  hogs,  starting  from  their  lairs, 
gave  her  an  instant's  fright.  The  moon  cast  strange  shadows 
around  her;  but  still  she  pushed  on,  with  this  one  only  thought 
in  her  mind,  that  her  father's  life  was  at  stake,  and  she  alone 
could  save  him.  She  had  written  to  her  mother  to  go  back 
to  Verdenton,  and  telegraph  to  her  father  ;  but  she  put  no 
hope  in  that.  How  she  trembled,  as  she  passed  each  fork  in 
the  rough  and  ill-marked  country  road,  lest  she  should  take  the 
right-hand  when  she  ought  to  turn  to  the  left,  and  so  lose 
precious,  priceless  moments !  How  her  heart  beat  with  joy 
when  she  came  upon  any  remembered  landmark !  And  all 
the  time  her  mind  was  full  of  tumultuous  prayer.  Sometimes 
it  bubbled  over  her  lips  in  tender,  disjointed  accents. 

"  Father  I  Papa,  dear,  dear  Papa !  "  she  cried  to  the  bright 
still  night  that  lay  around;  and  then  the  tears  burst  over  the 
quivering  lids,  and  ran  down  the  fair  cheeks  in  torrents.  She 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart  as  she  fancied  that  a  gleam  of 
redder  light  shot  athwart  the  northern  sky,  and  she  thought  of 
a  terrible  bonfire  that  would  rage  and  glow  above  that  horizon 
if  she  failed  to  bring  timely  warning  of  the  danger.  How  her 
heart  throbbed  with  thankfulness  as  she  galloped  through  an 
avenue  of  giant  oaks  at  a  cross-roads  where  she  remembered 
stopping  with  her  father  one  day !  He  had  told  her  that  it  was 
half  way  from  Glenville  to  Warrington.  He  had  watered  their 
horses  there ;  and  she  remembered  every  word  of  pleasant 
badinage  he  had  addressed  to  her  as  they  rode  home.  Had  one 
ever  before  so   dear,   so   tender   a  parent?     The  tears   cam© 


A   RACE  AGAINST   TIME.  249 

again;  but  she  drove  them  back  with  a  half-involuntary  laugh. 
*'Xot  now,  not  now  !  "  she  said.  "  No;  nor  at  all.  They  shall 
not  come  at  all;  for  I  will  save  him.  O  God,  help  me!  I  am 
but  a  weak  girl.  Why  did  the  letter  come  so  late?  But  I  will 
save  him!     Help  me,  Heaven  !  — guide  and  help !  " 

She  glanced  at  her  watch  as  she  passed  from  under  the  shade 
of  the  oaks,  and,  as  she  held  the  dial  up  to  the  moonlight,  gave 
a  scream  of  joy.  It  was  just  past  the  stroke  of  nine.  She  had 
still  an  hour,  and  half  the  distance  had  been  accomplished  in 
half  that  time.  She  had  no  fear  of  her  horse.  Pressing  on 
now  in  the  swinging  fox-walk  which  he  took  whenever  the 
character  of  the  road  or  the  mood  of  his  rider  demanded,  there 
was  no  sign  of  weariness.  As  he  threw  his  head  upon  one  side 
and  the  other,  as  if  asking  to  be  allowed  to  press  on,  she  saw 
his  dark  eye  gleam  with  the  fire  of  the  inveterate  racer.  His 
thin  nostrils  were  distended;  but  his  breath  came  regularly  and 
full.  She  had  not  forgotten,  even  in  her  haste  and  fright,  the 
lessons  her  father  had  taught ;  but,  as  soon  as  she  could  control 
her  horse,  she  had  spared  him,  and  compelled  him  to  husband 
his  strength.  Her  spirits  rose  at  the  prospect.  She  even 
caroled  a  bit  of  exultant  song  as  Young  Lollard  swept  on 
through  a  forest  of  towering  pines,  with  a  white  sand-cushion 
stretched  beneath  his  feet.  The  fragrance  of  the  pines  came 'to 
her  nostrils,  and  with  it  the  thought  of  frankincense,  and  that 
brought  up  the  hymns  of  her  childhood.  The  Star  in  the  East, 
the  Babe  of  Bethlehem,  the  Great  Deliverer,  —  all  swept 
across  her  wrapt  vision ;  and  then  came  the  priceless  promise, 
*'  I  will  not  leave  thee,  nor  forsake." 

Still  on  and  on  the  brave  horse  bore  her  with  untiring  limb. 
Half  the  remaining  distance  is  now  consumed,  and  she  comes 
to  a  place  where  the  road  forks,  not  once,  but  into  four 
branches.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  a  level  old  field  covered  with 
a  thick  growth  of  scrubby  pines.  Through  the  masses  of  thick 
green  are  white  lanes  which  stretch  away  in  every  direction, 
with  no  visible  difference  save  in  the  density  or  frequency  of 
the  shadows  which  fall  across  them.  She  tries  to  think  which 
of  the  many  intersecting  paths  lead  to  her  destination.     She 


250  A  FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

tries  this  and  then  that  for  a  few  steps,  consults  the  stars  to 
determine  in  what  direction  Glenville  lies,  and  has  almost 
decided  upon  the  first  to  the  right,  when  she  hears  a  sound 
which  turns  her  blood  to  ice  in  her  veins. 

A  shrill  whistle  sounds  to  the  left,  —  once,  twice,  thrice, — 
and  then  it  is  answered  from  the  road  in  front.  There  are  two 
others.  O  God!  if  she  but  knew  which  road  to  take!  She 
knows  well  enough  the  meaning  of  those  signals.  She  has 
heard  them  before.  The  masked  cavaliers  are  closing  in  upon 
her ;  and,  as  if  frozen  to  stone,  she  sits  her  horse  in  the  clear 
moonlight,  and  can  not  choose. 

She  is  not  thinking  of  herself.  It  is  not  for  herself  that  she 
fears :  but  there  has  come  over  her  a  horrible  numbing  sensa- 
tion that  she  is  lost,  that  she  does  not  know  which  road  leads 
to  those  she  seeks  to  save ;  and  at  the  same  time  there  comes 
the  certain  conviction  that  to  err  would  be  fatal.  There  are 
but  two  roads  now  to  choose  from,  since  she  has  heard  the  fate- 
ful signals  from  the  left  and  front:  but  how  much  depends 
upon  that  choice  !  "  It  must  be  this,"  she  says  to  herself;  and, 
as  she  says  it,  the  sickening  conviction  comes,  "No,  no:  it  is 
the  other !  "  She  hears  hoof-strokes  upon  the  road  in  front,  on 
that  to  her  left,  and  now,  too,  on  that  which  turns  sheer  to  the 
right.  From  one  to  the  other  the  whistle  sounds,  —  sharp, 
short  signals.  Her  heart  sinks  within  her.  She  has  halted  at 
the  very  rendezvous  of  the  enemy.  They  are  all  about  her.  To 
attempt  to  ride  down  either  road  now  is  to  invite  destruction. 

She  woke  from  her  stupor  when  the  first  horseman  came  in 
sight,  and  thanked  God  for  her  dark  horse  and  colorless  habit. 
She  urged  young  Lollard  among  the  dense  scrub-pines  which 
grew  between  the  two  roads  from  which  she  knew  that  she 
must  choose,  turned  his  head  back  towards  the  point  of  inter- 
section, drew  her  revolver,  leaned  over  upon  his  neck,  and 
peered  through  the  overhanging  branches.  She  patted  her 
horse's  head,  and  whispered  to  him  softly  to  keep  him  still. 

Hardly  had  she  placed  herself  in  hiding,  before  the  open 
space  around  the  intersecting  roads  was  alive  with  disguised 
horsemen.     She  could  catch  glimpses  of   their  figures   as   she 


A   RACE  AGALYST   TIME.  251 

gazed  through  the  clustering  spines.  Three  men  came  into  the 
road  which  ran  along  to  the  right  of  where  she  stood.  They 
were  hardly  five  steps  from  where  she  lay,  panting,  but  deter^ 
mined,  on  the  faithful  horse,  which  moved  not  a  muscle.  Once 
he  had  neighed  before  they  came  so  near ;  but  there  were  so 
many  horses  neighing  and  snuffing,  that  no  one  had  heeded  it. 
She  remembered  a  little  flask  which  ISIaggie  had  put  into  her 
pocket.  It  was  whiskey.  She  put  up  her  revolver,  drew  out 
the  flask,  opened  it,  poured  some  in  her  hand,  and,  leaning  for- 
ward, rubbed  it  on  the  horse's  nose.  He  did  not  offer  to  neigh 
again. 

One  of  the  men  who  stood  near  her  spoke. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  am  the  East  Commander  of  Camp  No.  5  of 
Pultowa  County." 

"  And  I,  of  Camp  No.  8,  of  Wayne." 

"Andl,  of  No.  12,  Sevier." 

"  You  are  the  men  I  expected  to  meet,"  said  the  first. 

"  We  were  ordered  to  report  to  you,"  said  the  others. 

"This  is  Bentley's  Cross,  then,  I  presume." 

"The  same." 

*'  Four  miles  from  Glenville,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Nigh  about  that,"  said  one  of  the  others. 

"We  leave  this  road  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  this 
place  ? " 

"Yes,  and  cross  by  a  country  way  to  the  river-road." 

"  What  is  the  distance  to  the  river-road  by  this  route  ?" 

"  Not  far  from  five  miles." 

"It  is  now  about  half-past  nine;  so  that  there  is  no  haste. 
How  many  men  have  you  each  V  " 

"  Thirty-two  from  No.  8." 

"  Thirty-one  from  No.  12." 

"I  have  my  self /or/^.  Are  yours  informed  of  the  work  on 
hand? " 

"Not  a  word." 

"  Are  we  quite  secure  here  ?  " 

"I  have  had  the  roads  picketed  since  sundown,"  answered 
one.  "I  myself  just  came  from  the  south,  not  ten  minutes 
before  vou  sicrnaled." 


252  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

"  Ah !  I  thought  I  heard  a  horse  on  that  road.** 

"  Has  the  party  we  want  left  Verdenton?  " 

"  A  messenger  from  Glenville  says  he  is  on  the  train  with  the 
carpet-bagger  Servosse." 

"  Going  home  with  him?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  decree  does  not  cover  Servosse  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  don't  half  like  the  business,  anyhow,  and  am  not  inclined 
to  go  beyond  express  orders.  What  do  you  say  about  it  ? " 
asked  the  leader. 

"Hadn't  we  better  say  the  decree  covers  both  ?  "  asked  one. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  said  the  leader  with  decision. 

"  You  remember  our  rules,"  said  the  third,  —  "  '  when  a  party 
is  made  up  by  details  from  different  camps,  it  shall  constitute 
a  camp  so  far  as  to  regulate  its  own  action ;  and  all  matters  per- 
taining to  such  action  which  the  officer  in  command  may  see  fit 
to  submit  to  it  shall  be  decided  by  a  majority  vote.'  I  think 
this  had  better  be  left  to  the  camp  ?  " 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  the  leader.  "But,  before  we  do  so, 
let's  have  a  drink." 

He  produced  a  flask,  and  they  all  partook  of  its  contents. 
Then  they  went  back  to  the  intersection  of  the  roads,  mounted 
their  horses,  and  the  leader  commanded,  "  Attention !  " 

The  men  gathered  closer,  and  then  all  was  still.  Then  the 
leader  said,  in  words  distinctly  heard  by  the  trembling  girl,  — 

"Gentlemen,  we  have  met  here,  under  a  solemn  and  duly 
authenticated  decree  of  a  properly  organized  camp  of  the  county 
of  Rockford,  to  execute  for  them  the  extreme  penalty  of  our 
order  upon  Thomas  Denton,  in  the  way  and  manner  therein 
prescribed.  This  unpleasant  duty  of  course  will  be  done  as 
becomes  earnest  men.  We  are,  however,  informed  that  there 
will  be  with  the  said  Denton  at  the  time  we  are  directed  to 
take  him  another  notorious  Radical  well  known  to  you  all, 
Colonel  Comfort  Servosse.  He  is  not  included  in  the  decree ; 
and  I  now  submit  for  your  determination  the  question,  *  What 
shall  be  done  with  him  V  ' " 


A  RACE  AGAINST  TIME,  253 

There  was  a  moment's  buzz  in  the  crowd. 

One  careless-toned  fellow  said  that  he  thought  it  would  be 
well  enough  to  wait  till  they  caught  their  hare  before  cook- 
ing it.  It  was  not  the  first  time  a  squad  had  thought  they  had 
Servosse  in  their  power;  but  they  had  never  ruffled  a  hair  of 
his  head  yet. 

The  leader  commanded,  "  Order ! "  and  one  of  the  associate 
Commanders  moved  that  the  same  decree  be  made  against  him 
as  against  the  said  Denton.  Then  the  vote  was  taken.  All 
were  in  the  affirmative,  except  the  loud-voiced  young  man  who 
had  spoken  before,  who  said  with  emphasis,  — 

"  No,  by  Granny  !  I'm  not  in  favor  of  killing  anybody  !  I'll 
have  you  know,  gentlemen,  it's  neither  a  pleasant  nor  a  safe 
business.  First  we  know,  we'll  all  be  running  our  necks  into 
hemp.  It's  what  we  call  murder,  gentlemen,  in  civilized  and 
Christian  countries!  " 

"  Order !  "  cried  the  commander. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  yell  at  me  !  "  said  the  young  man  fearlessly. 
"  I'm  not  afraid  of  anybody  here,  nor  all  of  you.  Mel.  Gurney 
and  I  came  just  to  take  some  friends'  places  who  couldn't  -obey 
the  summons,  —  we're  not  bound  to  stay,  but  I  suppose  I  shall 
go  along.  I  don't  like  it,  though,  and,  if  I  get  much  sicker,  I 
shall  leave.     You  can  count  on  that !  " 

"  If  you  stir  from  your  place,"  said  the  leader  sternly,  "  I  shall 
put  a  bullet  through  you." 

"  Oh,  you  go  to  hell ! "  retorted  the  other.  "  You  don't  expect 
to  frighten  one  of  the  old  Louisiana  Tigers  in  that  way,  do 
you?  Now  look  here,  Jake  Carver,"  he  continued,  drawing  a 
huge  navy  revolver,  and  cocking  it  coolly,  "  don't  try  any  such 
little  game  on  me,  'cause,  if  ye  do,  there  may  be  more'n  one  of 
us  fit  for  a  spy-glass  when  it's  over." 

At  this,  considerable  confusion  arose;  and  Lily,  with  her 
revolver  ready  cocked  in  her  hand,  turned,  and  cautiously  made 
her  way  to  the  road  which  had  been  indicated  as  the  one  which 
led  to  Glenville.  Just  as  her  horse  stepped  into  the  path,  an 
overhanging  limb  caught  her  hat,  and  pulled  it  off,  together 
with   the  hood  of  her  waterproof,  so  that  her  hair  fell   down 


254  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

again  upon  her  shoulders.  She  hardly  noticed  the  fact  in  hei 
excitement,  and,  if  she  had,  could  not  have  stopped  to  repair 
the  accident.  She  kept  her  horse  upon  the  shady  side,  walking 
upon  the  grass  as  much  as  possible  to  prevent  attracting  atten- 
tion, watching  on  all  sides  for  any  scattered  members  of  the 
Klan.  She  had  proceeded  thus  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards,  when  she  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  saw,  sitting 
before  her  in  the  moonlight,  one  of  the  disguised  horsemen, 
evidently  a  sentry  who  had  been  stationed  there  to  see  that  no 
one  came  upon  the  camp  unexpectedly.  He  was  facing  the 
other  way,  but  just  at  that  instant  turned,  and,  seeing  her  indis- 
tinctly in  the  shadow,  cried  out  at  once,  — 

"Who's  there?     Halt!" 

They  were  not  twenty  yards  apart.  Young  Lollard  was 
trembling  with  excitement  under  the  tightly-drawn  rein. 
Lily  thought  of  her  father  half-prayerfully,  half-fiercely, 
bowed  close  over  her  horse's  neck,  and  braced  herself  in  the 
saddle,  w^ith  every  muscle  as  tense  as  those  of  the  tiger  wait- 
ing for  his  leap.  Almost  before  the  words  were  out  of  the 
sentry's  mouth,  she  had  given  Young  Lollard  the  spur,  and 
shot  like  an  arrow  into  the  bright  moonlight,  straight  towards 
the  black  muffled  horseman. 

"My  God!  "  he  cried,  amazed  at  the  sudden  apparition. 

She  was  close  upon  him  in  an  instant.  There  was  a  shot; 
his  startled  horse  sprang  aside,  and  Lily,  urging  Young  Lol- 
lard to  his  utmost  speed,  was  flying  down  the  road  toward 
Glenville.  She  heard  an  uproar  behind,  —  shouts,  and  one 
or  two  shots.  On,  on,  she  sped.  She  knew  now  every  foot 
of  the  road  beyond.  She  looked  back,  and  saw  her  pursuers 
swarming  out  of  the  wood  into  the  moonlight  Just  then  she 
was  in  shadow.  A  mile,  two  miles,  were  passed.  She  drew 
in  her  horse  to  listen.  There  was  the  noise  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  coming  down  a  hill  she  had  just  descended,  as  her 
gallant  steed  bore  her,  almost  with  undiminished  stride,  up 
the  opposite  slope.  She  laughed,  even  in  her  terrible  excite- 
ment, at  the  very  thought  that  any  one  should  attempt  to  over- 
take her. 


A  RACE  AGAINST   TIME.  255 

"  They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,  quoth  young  Lochinvar," 

she  hummed  as  she  patted  Young  Lollard's  outstretched  neck. 
She  turned  when  they  reached  the  summit,  her  long  hair 
streaming  backward  in  the  moonlight  like  a  golden  banner, 
and  saw  the  solitary  horseman  on  the  opposite  slope;  then 
turned  back,  and  passed  over  the  hill.  He  halted  as  she  dashed 
out  of  sight,  and  after  a  moment  turned  round,  and  soon  met 
the  entire  camp,  now  in  perfect  order,  galloping  forward  dark 
and  silent  as  fate.  The  Commander  halted  as  they  met  the 
returning  sentinel, 

"  What  was  it?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  sentinel  carelessly.  "  I  was  sitting 
there  at  the  turn  examining  my  revolver,  when  a  rabbit  ran 
across  the  road,  and  frightened  my  mare.  She  jumped,  and 
the  pistol  went  off.  It  happened  to  graze  my  left  arm,  so  I 
could  not  hold  the  reins ;  and  she  like  to  have  taken  me  into 
Glenville  before  I  could  pull  her  up." 

"I'm  glad  that's  all,"  said  the  officer,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Did  it  hurt  you  much  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  used  that  arm  up,  for  the  present." 

A  hasty  examination  showed  this  to  be  true,  and  the  reck- 
less-talking young  man  was  detailed  to  accompany  him  to 
some  place  for  treatment  and  safety,  while  the  others  passed 
on  to  perform  their  horrible  task. 


The  train  from  Verdenton  had  reached  and  left  Glenville. 
The  incomers  had  been  divided  between  the  rival  hotels,  the 
porters  had  removed  the  luggage,  and  the  agent  was  just 
entering  his  office,  when  a  foam-flecked  horse  with  bloody 
nostrils  and  fiery  eyes,  ridden  by  a  young  girl  with  a  white,  set 
face,  and  fair,  flowing  hair,  dashed  up  to  the  station. 

"  Judge  Denton !  "  the  rider  shrieked. 

The  agent  had  but  time  to  motion  with  his  hand,  and  she 
had  swept  on  towards  a  carriage  which  was  being  swiftly 
driven  away  from  the  station,  and  which  was  just  visible  at  the 
turn  of  the  villajje  street. 


256  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"  Papa,  Papa !  "  shrieked  tlie  girlish  voice  as  she  swept  on. 

A  frightened  face  glanced  backward  from  the  carriage,  and 
in  an  instant  Comfort  Servosse  was  standing  in  the  path  of 
the  rushing  steed. 

"  Ho,  Lollard !  "  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  which  rang  over  the 
sleepy  town  like  a  trumpet-note. 

The  amazed  horse  veered  quickly  to  one  side,  and  stopped  as 
if  stricken  to  stone,  while  Lily  fell  insensible  into  her  father's 
arms.  AVhen  she  recovered,  he  was  bending  over  her  with  a 
look  in  his  eyes  which  she  will  never  forget. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

THE   "REB"   view   of   IT. 

Lily  had  faltered  out  her  message  of  horror  even  in  the 
unconscious  moments  when  she  was  being  carried  in  her 
father's  arms  to  the  hotel.  Indeed,  her  unexpected  appear- 
ance, and  clamorous  haste  to  prevent  her  father's  departure 
from  the  town,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  inform  him  that 
she  knew  of  some  danger  that  impended.  Her  unconscious 
mutterings  had  still  further  advised  him  of  the  character  of 
the  danger  and  the  fact  that  she  herself  had  narrowly  es- 
caped. This  was  all  he  could  glean  from  her.  Her  over- 
taxed system  had  given  way  with  excitement  and  fatigue,  and, 
fortunately  for  her,  she  slept.  A  physician  was  called,  who, 
after  examination  of  her  condition,  directed  that  she  should 
in  no  event  be  aroused.  A  telegram  from  Metta,  which  should 
have  been  delivered  on  the  arrival  of  the  train,  confirmed  the 
conclusion  at  which  Servosse  had  arrived.  He  left  the  bed- 
side of  the  daughter  who  to  his  eyes  had  grown  to  woman- 
hood since  the  noon  of  the  day  before,  but  once  during  the 
night,  and  that  was  but  to  telegraph  to  Metta,  to  provide  that 
Young  Lollard  should  be  well  cared  for,  and  to  consult  with 


THE   ^^REB"    VIEW  OF  IT.  257 

Judge  Denton,  who  had  remained  with  them  in  the  town. 
It  was  by  no  means  certain  that  the  danger  had  passed  by :  so 
these  two  men  concluded  to  watch  until  morning. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  Lily  opened  her  eyes,  to  find  her 
father  holding  her  hand,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  inexpressi- 
ble affection.  She  told  him  all  as  soon  as  her  weakness  and 
her  sobs  would  permit,  and  was  more  than  repaid  for  all  she 
had  dared  and  suffered  by  the  fervent  embrace  and  the  tremu- 
lous "  God  bless  you,  my  daughter ! "  which  followed  her 
recital.  Then  he  ordered  some  refreshments  for  her,  and 
recommended  further  sleep,  while  he  went  to  recount  her 
story  to  his  friend. 

Somehow  the  story  seemed  to  have  leaked  out  during  the 
night,  and  every  one  about  the  town  was  aware  of  its  main 
features.  That  there  had  been  a  raid  intended,  nay,  that  it 
had  even  been  organized,  and  proceeded  to  the  bridge  across 
the  river,  for  the  purpose  of  intercepting  Judge  Denton  on  his 
way  home,  was  undoubted.  That  the  party  had  rendezvoused 
at  Bentley's  Cross-Roads  was  also  known,  as  well  as  the  fact 
that  the  judge's  carriage  had  been  stopped  and  turned  back, 
just  on  the  outskirts  of  Glenville,  by  the  arrival  of  the  daughter 
of  Colonel  Servosse,  bareheaded,  and  mounted  on  a  foaming 
steed.  That  she  had  come  from  Warrington  was  presumed, 
and  that  she  must  have  passed  Bentley's  Cross  about  the  time 
of  the  rendezvous  was  more  than  probable.  Added  to  this 
was  the  fact  that  a  countryman  coming  to  market  early  had 
brought  in  a  lady's  riding-hat  which  he  had  found  at  the  very 
spot  where  the  Klan  had  met.  He  w-as  closely  examined  as 
to  the  appearance  of  the  ground,  and  the  precise  point  at 
which  he  found  it.  Of  course,  it  was  by  no  means  sure  that 
it  was  Miss  Lily's  hat;  but  such  was  evidently  the  impression. 
The  loud-voiced  young  man  who  had  been  detailed  to  take 
care  of  the  wounded  sentinel,  and  who  had  come  into  the 
same  town  with  his  charge,  volunteered  to  ascertain  that 
fact,  and  took  the  hat  into  his  possession.  Returning  to  the 
hotel,  and  entering  the  room  where  a  young  man  lounged 
upon  the  bed,  with  his  left  arm  in  a  sling,  he  exclaimed,  — 


258  A    FOOVS  ERRAND. 

"I  thought  it  was  mighty  queer  that  a  rabbit  had  made 
Melville  Gurney  shoot  himself,  and  let  his  horse  run  away  too. 
I  think  I  understand  it  now." 

He  laid  the  hat  upon  the  bed  beside  his  friend  as  he  spoke. 
^Melville  Gurney  recognized  it  in  an  instant ;  but  he  tried  to 
betray  no  emotion,  as  he  asked,  — 

"  ^Vell,  what  is  it  you  understand,  John  Burleson  ?  " 

"  The  whole  thing.  I  see  it  now  from  beginning  to  end. 
The  little  Yankee  girl  had  just  come  to  the  Cross  when  our 
bands  began  to  close  in  on  her.  She  hid  in  the  pines,  —  proba- 
bly right  there  at  the  Forks,  —  and  no  doubt  saw  and  heard 
every  thing  that  went  on.  By  Gad !  she's  a  plucky  little  piece! 
But  how  the  deuce  do  you  suppose  she  kept  that  horse  still, 
with  a  hundred  horses  all  around  her?  Gad!  it  was  close 
quarters !  Then,  as  she  is  coming  out,  she  stumbles  on  Mr. 
Melville  Gurney  standing  sentry  over  that  devil's  gang  of 
respectable  murderers,  shoots  him  before  he  has  time  to  say 
Jack  Robinson,  and  comes  sailing  in  here  like  a  bird,  on  that 
magnificent  thorough-bred,  overhauls  Judge  Denton's  carriage, 
and  saves  her  father's  life  like  a  heroine,  and  a  lady  too,  as 
she  is.  Dang  my  buttons  if  I  ain't  ready  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  her  garments  even !  Mel.  Gurney,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
don't  envy  you  the  pleasure  of  being  shot  by  such  a  splendid 
plucky  little  girl  !     D'ye  know  her  ?     Ever  met  her  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Of  course.  They  say  she  knows  almost  as  many  people  as 
her  father,  who,  by  the  way,  Mel.,  is  no  slouch,  either.  I  know 
him,  and  like  him  too,  if  he  is  a  cari:)et-bagger.  I'm  glad  I 
put  in  a  good  word  for  him  last  night.  No  doubt  she  heard 
me.  Mel.  Gurney,  I'm  in  luck  for  once.  Give  me  that  hat! 
What  am  I  going  to  do  with  it  ?  Why,  restore  it  to  the  owner, 
make  my  peace  with  her  pa  and  Judge  Denton,  and  in  the 
fullness  of  time  offer  her  my  hand  and  heart." 

"Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  Gurney. 

"  Pshaw  V  INIy  dear  friend,  you  seem  smitten  with  a  big 
disgust  all  at  once.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  take  my  place  ? 
Remember  you  can't  have  all  the  good  things.     It's  enough 


THE   ^^REB"    VIEW  OF  IT. 


259 


for  you  to  have  her  sling  a  lump  of  cold  lead  through  your 
carcass.  Be  thankful  for  ^hat  you  enjoy,  and  don't  envy  other 
people  their  little  pleasures." 

"I  wish  you  would  stop  fooling,  and  talk  sense  for  a 
moment,  Burleson,"  said  Gurney  fretfully. 

"  Hear  him  now !  As  if  I  had  been  doing  any  thing  else ! 
By  Gad !  the  more  sense  I  talk,  the  less  I  am  appreciated. 
Witness  Jake  Carver  last  night,  and  Mel.  Gurney  this  morn- 
ing. I'm  no  spring-chicken;  and,  allowing  me  to  be  the  judge, 
1  feel  free  to  say  that  I  have  never  listened  to  more  sound  and 
convincing  sense  than  flowed  from  these  lips  on  those  two  occa- 
sions," responded  Burleson. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  asked  Gurney. 
"  What,  about  the  sense  ?     Entirely  so. " 
«  Ko,  about  Miss  Lily  Servosse,"  said  Gurney. 
«  And  the  proffer  of  my  heart  and  hand  ?  "  answered  Burle- 
son.    "No.      Unfortunately,  — don't  you  blow  on  me,  and  tell 
that  I  ever  used  that  word;  but  in  earnest  truth  I  never  came 
nearer  feeling  it,  —  unfortunately,  I  say,  I  am,  as  you  ha,ve 
reason  to  know,  under  bonds  to  confer  my  precious  personality 
upon  another,  —a  Miss  Lily  too,  (thank  Heaven  for  the  name, 
at  least ! )  —  and  so  must  deny  myself  the  distinguished  privi- 
lege I  for  a  moment  dreamed  of.     No,  I'm  not  in   earnest 
about  that  part  of  it." 

"Well,  I  am,"  said  Gurney  emphatically. 
"The    devil   you    say!"   exclaimed   Burleson    in    suq^rise. 
"  You  don't  mean  it !  " 

"  I  will  win  and  wed  Lily  Servosse,  if  I  can,"  said  Gurney 
modestly. 

"  Well,  /  swear  !  "  exclaimed  Burleson.  "  But  do  you  know, 
old  fellow,  I  don't  think  you  put  that  in  the  hypothetical  with- 
out reason  ?  It's  my  notion  you'll  have  a  hard  time  of  it, 
even  if  you  manage  to  pull  through  at  all  on  that  line. 
Remember,  old  fellow,  your  family,  position,  and  all  that, 
won't  count  a  rush  for  you  in  this  matter.  These  carpet- 
baggers don't  care  a  continental  cuss  how  many  niggers  your 
ancestors  had.     Then  your  father  is  an  especial  antagonist  of 


260  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

Servosse  ;  and  for  yourself  —  all  that  /  can  see  that  you  have 
to  put  up  is,  that  you  went  along  with  a  crowd  of  respectable 
gentlemen  to  kill  her  father,  ^.nd  would  have  done  so,  but  for 
her  nerve:  in  fact,  you  can  claim  very  justly  that  j^ou  would 
have  prevented  her  saving  him,  if  she  had  not  shot  you,  and 
effected  her  escape." 

"  That  is  not  so.  Her  father  was  not  included  in  the  decree, 
and  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  he  would  be  in  company  with 
Denton,"  interrupted  ..Gurney. 

"  "Well,  we  will  say  on  your  way  to  roast  —  yes,  by  Heaven ! 
to  roast  alive  —  Judge  Denton !  Think  of  that,  will  you  ? 
General  Gurney's  son,  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
nay,  almost  in  its  last  quarter,  —  in  the  blaze  of  American 
freedom  and  civilization  at  all  events,  —  goes  out  by  night 
to  broil  a  neighbor,  without  even  the  cannibal's  excuse  of 
hunger  !     Bah  1  that's  a  fine  plea  for  a  lover,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"My  God,  Burleson!"  cried  Gurney,  jumping  up.  "You 
don't  think  she'll  look  at  it  in  that  light,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Oughtn't  any  decent  woman  to  do  so,  not  to 
say  a  carpet-bagger's  daughter?  I  vow  I  shouldn't  blame  her 
if  she  took  another  shot  at  you  for  your  impudence !  " 

"  Kor  I  either,  Burleson,  that's  a  fact ! "  said  Gurney 
musingly. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Burleson.  "  I  understand  that 
l"abbit  story  now.     You  recognized  Miss  Lily  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Gurney  simply. 

"  '  Of  course,'  it  is,  indeed  !  "  said  Burleson.  "  I  might  have 
known  it  would  have  taken  more  than  one  broken  arm  to 
make  Mel.  Gurney  let  a  rider  run  his  guard  unhurt.  You 
recognized  her,  and  galloped  after  her  to  prevent  suspicion, 
and  on  the  way  invented  that  story  about  the  rabbit,  and  your 
pistol  going  off.  By  Gad !  it  was  a  gallant  thing,  old  fellow, 
if  we  were  on  a  heathen  errand.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  boy  ! 
It's  not  so  bad,  after  all.  Perhaps  Miss  Lily  might  make  a 
decent  man  of  you  in  time ;  though  we  both  ought  to  be 
hanged,  that's  a  fact !  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,  Burleson ;  but  it  is  horri- 
ble," said  Gurney,  with  a  shudder. 


THE  "REB'*    VIEW  OF  IT.  261 

"  Horrible  ?  —  it's  hellish,  Mel.  Gurney !  That's  what  it  is ! 
If  I  were  the  Yankees,  and  had  the  power  of  the  government, 
I  wouldn't  see  these  things  go  on  one  hour.  By  Gad!  I'm 
ashamed  of  them  as  Americans !  AVhen  the  war  was  going  on 
and  we  met  them  in  battle,  there  was  always  one  satisfaction, 
whoever  got  "  fanned  out,"  —  it  was  always  our  own  folks  that 
did  it,  and  one  couldn't  well  help  being  proud  of  the  job.  I  tell 
you  what,  Mel.,  there's  been  many  a  time  when  I  could  hardly 
tell  which  I  was  proudest  of,  —  Yank,  or  Reb.  There  was 
Gettysburg,  now !  You  know  I  was  in  the  artillery,  and  had 
a  better  chance  to  see  the  ensemble  of  a  battle  thap  one  in  the 
infantry  line.  We  had  been  pouring  a  perfect  hell  of  shot 
upon  the  cemetery  for  an  hour,  when  the  charge  was  ordered, 
and  we  ceased  firing.  We  were  black  and  grim,  and  almost 
deaf  with  the  continuous  roar.  I  remember  the  sweat  poured 
down  the  sooty  faces  of  my  gun-mates,  apd  I  don't  suppose 
there  was  a  dry  rag  about  them.  Some  leaned  on  the  smoking 
piece,  and  some  threw  themselves  on  the  ground  ;  but  every  one 
kept  his  eyes  riveted  on  that  line  of  bright  steel  and  dirty  gray 
which  was  sweeping  up  to  the  low  wall  that  we  had  been  salt- 
ing with  fire  so  long.  We  thought  they  would  go  over  it  as 
the  sea  breaches  a  sand-dike.  But  we  were  mistaken.  Those 
men  who  had  hung  to  their  ground  through  it  all,  sent  their 
plague  of  leaden  death  in  our  fellows'  faces,  and  met  them  at 
the  point  of  the  bayonet  as  coolly  and  stubbornly  as  if  it  were 
but  the  opening  of  the  ball,  instead  of  its  last  gallopade.  Bad 
as  I  felt  when  our  fellows  fell  back,  I  could  have  given  three 
cheers  for  those  Yanks  with  a  will.  I  thought  then,  that  'f 
the  worst  came,  as  I  always  believed  it  would,  we  could  have 
a  genuine  pride  in  our  conquerors. 

"  And  so  I  had,  until  this  Ku-Klux  business  came  up.  I  told 
our  fellows  on  the  start,  they  would  burn  their  fingers ;  for  I 
could  not  forget  that  the  men  they  were  whipping  and  hanging 
were  the  friends  of  those  same  Yankees,  —  the  only  friends  they 
had  here  too,  —  and  I  had  no  idea  that  such  men  would  suffer 
them  to  be  abused  at  that  rate.  Some  of  the  boys  got  the 
notion,  however,  that  I  was  afraid ;  and  I  went  in  just  to  show 


262  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

them  I  was  not.  For  a  time  I  looked  every  day  for  an  earth« 
quake,  and,  when  it  didn't  come,  I  felt  an  unutterable  contempt 
for  the  whole  Yankee  nation ;  and  danm  me  if  I  don't  feel  it 
yet !  I  really  pity  this  man,  Servosse !  He  feels  ashamed  of 
his  people,  and  knows  that  even  the  white  Rej^ublicans  —  poor 
.shotes  as  many  of  them  are  —  despise  the  whining,  canting 
sycophancy  which  makes  their  Northern  allies  abandon  help- 
less friends  to  powerful  enemies.  I  tell  you  what,  Mel.  Gur- 
ney,  if  we  Southerners  had  come  out  ahead,  and  had  such 
friends  as  these  niggers  and  Union  pien,  with  now  and  then  one 
of  our  own  kidney,  scattered  through  the  North,  we  would  have 
gone  through  hell-fire  before  we  would  have  deserted  them  in 
this  way  I " 

"That  is  no  justification  to  us,  though,"  said  Gurney,  who 
was  now  walking  back  and  forth  across  the  room,  quite  forget- 
ful of  the  pain  of  his  arm. 

"On  the  contrary,  it  makes  it  worse,"  said  Burleson.  "We 
are  advancing  the  power  of  a  party  to  which  we  are  devoted,  it 
is  true ;  but  in  so  doing  we  are  merely  putting  power  in  the 
hands  of  its  worst  elements,  against  whom  we  shall  have  to 
rebel  sooner  or  later.  The  leaders  in  these  cowardly  raids  — 
such  men  as  Jake  Carver  and  a  hundred  more  whom  I  could 
name  —  will  be  our  representatives,  senators,  legislators,  judges, 
and  so  forth,  hereafter.  It  is  the  simple  rule  of  human  nature. 
Leadership  in  any  public  movement  is  the  sure  pathway  to 
public  honor.  It  has  been  so  since  the  war.  Look  at  the  men 
to  whom  we  have  given  civic  honors.  How  many  of  them 
would  have  been  heard  of,  but  for  their  soldiering?  In  that 
case,  I  don't  complain  of  it.  They  were  all  brave  men,  though 
some  were  great  fools.  But  when  it  comes  to  preferring  mid- 
night murderers  and  brutal  assassins  for  legislators  and  govern- 
ors and  judges,  and  the  like,  simply  because  they  were  leaders 
in  crime,  I  swear,  Mel.  Gurney,  it  comes  hard!  Some  time  or 
other  we  shall  be  sick  and  ashamed  of  it." 

"I  am  that  now,"  said  Gurney. 

"  No  doubt ;  especially  since  you  have  thought  how  Lily  Ser- 
vosse must  look  at  it.     Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mel.,  I  like 


THE  ''REB''    VIEW  OF  IT.  263 

you,  and  I  like  Servosse's  little  girl  too.  I  believe  you  cau 
get  her,  —  after  a  ^Yhile,  you  know,  —  if  you've  got  pluck 
enough  to  own  up  and  reform,  '  repent  and  be  baptized,'  you 
know.  And  it  will  be  a  baptism  to  you :  you  can  bet  on  that, 
—  a  baptism  of  fire  !  " 

"You  don't  suppose  I'd  'peach,' do  you,  John  Burleson?" 
said  Gurney,  turning  indignantly  towards  his  friend. 

'•  Hell !  You  don't  think  I've  turned  fool,  do  you  ?  "  asked 
•Burleson,  with  equal  indignation.  "  See  here,  Gurney,  you  and 
I  were  boys  together.  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  do  a  mean 
thing?" 

"Never! " 

"  "Well  now,  listen.  I'm  going  to  bolt  this  whole  business. 
I'm  not  going  to  tell  on  anybody  else  (you  know  I'd  be  drawn 
and  quartered  first) ;  but  I'm  going  to  own  up  my  connection 
with  it,  tell  as  much  as  I  can,  without  implicating  any  one  else, 
and  do  my  best  to  break  it  up.  I  never  thought  of  just  this 
way  of  doing  it  before,  and  should  not  have  hit  on  it  now  but 
for  your  sake." 

"  For  my  sake  ?  "  asked  Gurney  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  for  your  sake.  Don't  you  see  you  will  have  to  own  up 
in  this  way,  before  either  father  or  daughter  will  look  at  you?  " 

"Well?" 

"AYell?     I'll  just  go  ahead  and  break  the  way,  that's  all." 

"  When  will  you  begin  ?  " 

"  To-day  —  now  !  " 

"How?" 

"  I  shall  go  down  upon  the  street,  and  publish  as  much  as  I 
well  can  of  this  raid,  and  try  to  laud  the  pluck  of  that  young 
lady  about  half  as  highly  as  it  deserves.  God  bless  her  !  I 
would  like  to  kiss  the  place  where  she  has  set  her  foot,  just  to 
show  my  appreciation  of  her !  " 

"Do  you  really  think  you  had  better  venture  upon  such  a 
course  ?     It  mi^ht  be  a  very  dangerous  business,"  said  Gurney. 

"  The  very  reason  above  all  others  why  John  Burleson  should 
undertake  the  job.  Some  one  must  do  it,  and  it  would  not  do 
for  you  to  be  the  first.     It's  not  often  one  has  a  chance  to  serve 


264  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

his  friend  and  do  a  patriotic  duty  at  once.  It's  all  out  now,  in 
fact.  The  guesses  and  rumors  that  are  afloat  are  within  an  ace 
of  the  facts.  There  may  as  well  be  some  advantage  gained 
by  that,  as  not.     I  shall  take  the  young  lady  her  hat "  — 

"  Let  me  do  that,  if  you  please,"  said  Gurney  anxiously. 

"  All  right,  if  you  think  you  can  face  the  fire." 

So  down  upon  the  street  went  John  Burleson.  The  first 
man  whom  he  met  ascending  the  steps  of  the  hotel  was  Judge 
Denton.  Extending  his  hand  cordially,  he  said  in  a  voice  that 
All  could  hear,  — 

"Judge,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  was  in  that  hellish  affair 
last  night.  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  till  we  got  to  the  Cross, 
nor  did  any  of  them  but  the  Commanders.  That  made  no  dif- 
ference, though.  VJ^e  were  in  for  it,  and  I  do  not  doubt  would 
have  carried  it  through,  but  for  Miss  Lily  Servosse.  She  de- 
serves a  statue,  judge.  I've  no  excuse  to  make.  I'm  not  a 
child,  and  was  not  deceived.  Any  time  you  want  me,  I'm 
ready  to  plead  guilty  to  any  thing  I've  done.  In  any  event, 
this  is  the  last  raid  I  shall  join,  and  the  last  that  will  be  made, 
if  I  can  prevent  it." 

He  stalked  off,  leaving  the  astonished  judge  to  gaze  after 
him,  and  wonder  if  he  had  heard  aright.  Burleson  repeated 
the  same  language,  with  various  addenda,  to  every  group  of 
loungers  he  met  on  the  street,  so  that  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
the  word  had  gone  out  that  John  Burleson  had  "  gone  back  " 
on  the  Ku-Klux.  It  spread  like  wildfire.  He  had  occupied  a 
prominent  place  in  the  order,  and  it  was  known  that  he  knew 
many  fatal  secrets  connected  with  it.  It  was  telegraphed  in 
every  direction,  and  went  from  man  to  man  among  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Klan  in  a  dozen  counties  where  he  was  well  known. 
They  knew  that  he  could  not  be  silenced  by  threats  or  bribes. 
A  great  fear  took  hold  of  them  when  they  heard  it,  and  many 
fled  the  county  without  further  inquiry.  The.  little  town  in 
which  they  were  was  almost  deserted  in  an  hour.  Perceiving 
this  effect,  and  thoroughly  comprehending  its  cause,  John  Bur- 
leson approached  Judge  Denton  and  Colonel  Servosse,  and 
said  to  them,  — 


THE  ''REB''    VIEW  OF  IT.  265 

"  Gentlemen,  the  train  will  be  here  in  an  hour.  I  have  no 
right  to  advise  with  regard  to  your  movements ;  but  you  will 
allow  me  to  say  that  I  think,  after  what  occurred  last  night,  that 
the  more  prudent  course  would  be  for  Judge  Denton  to  return 
with  us  to  Verdenton,  and  then  spend  a  few  days  at  >Varrington. 
It  will  be  only  an  exchange  of  hospitalities  anyhow. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Denton,  "I  was  just  trying  to  per- 
suade Colonel  Servosse  to  send  for  his  wife,  and  make  his  visit, 
despite  our  contretemps  last  night." 

"It  is  quite  impossible,"  said  Servosse.  "Lily  says  she 
could  never  endure  to  cross  that  bridge ;  and,  in  her  present 
condition,  I  do  not  think  she  should  be  subjected  to  any  un- 
necessary excitement." 

"  Certainly  not !  "  said  Denton.  "  After  her  heroism  of  last 
night,  she  is  entitled  to  the  gratification  of  her  every  wish." 

*'  That  being  your  feeling,"  said  Servosse,  "  I  am  emboldened 
to  second  ]\[r.  Burleson's  view  by  saying  that  it  is  my  daughter's 
especial  desire  that  you  should  come  home  with  us.  She  is 
under  a  terrible  apprehension  in  regard  to  the  future,  and  es- 
pecially in  reference  to  you,  sir.  She  thinks,  that,  if  you  should 
go  off  into  the  country  there,  you  would  be  sure  to  be  assassi- 
nated. She  thinks  there  is  far  less  danger,  if  we  are  together; 
not  only  because  there  would  be  more  hesitation  in  attacking 
two,  but  because,  being  both  men  of  some  prominence,  our 
joint  assassination  would  be  more  likely  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion, and  awaken  the  resentment,  of  the  government  and  the 
people  of  the  North,  than  our  individual  destruction.  Indeed, 
she  has  an  idea  that  the  very  fact  of  my  Northern  birth  —  my 
prominence  as  a  '  carpet-bagger,'  so  to  speak  —  is  in  itself  a 
sort  of  protection." 

"And  in  that  she  is  quite  correct,"  said  Burleson.  "I  have 
wondered  that  it  has  not  occurred  to  you  gentlemen  before,  to 
inquire  why  it  is  that  so  few  Northern  men  of  any  standing  or 
position  have  been  molested.  It's  not  been  from  any  kindly 
feeling  for  them,  I  assure  you ;  but  there  has  been  a  notion  that 
if  such  men  as  you  —  Northern  men  of  some  prominence  — 
were  interfered  with,  it  might  stir  up  a  hornet's  nest  that  would 


266  A  FOOUS  ERRAND. 

make  us  trouble.     This  very  fact  is  all  that  has  saved  mora 
thau  one  man  whom  I  could  name." 

"That  is  her  very  idea,"  said  Servosse,  "and  there  may  be 
some  truth  in  it.  Certainly  Mr.  Burleson  should  know "  he 
added,  with  a  meaning  glance  at  Denton ;  for  the  judge  was  too 
suspicious,  and  the  new  fact  was  too  unaccountable  to  allow 
him  yet  to  put  full  confidence  in  the  professed  change  of  that 
gentleman.  His  suspicion  was  increased  by  the  next  remark 
of  Burleson. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  it  never  occurred  to  me  before ;  but 
how  on  earth  did  Miss  Lily  get  information  of  that  raid  ?  I 
don't  reckon  she  was  out  riding  your  pet  racing-horse  at  that 
time  of  night  just  for  fun  !  " 

"  We  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  speak  of  that  at  this  time,' 
said  Comfort  seriously. 

"  All  right !  "  responded  Burleson.  "  I  only  hope  it  is  a  hole 
that  will  let  light  in  upon  the  thing.  I  have  always  supposed 
it  would  come,  and  have  known,  that,  if  one  ever  pipped  the 
shell,  a  thousand  would  try  to  be  the  first  to  get  their  heads  out. 
If  the  idea  once  goes  out,  Judge,  that  any  one  has  given  the 
thing  away,  you  will  have  your  hands  full  taking  confessions. 
They  will  be  full  of  horrors  too,  —  more  than  you  ever  dreamed 
of.  You'll  think  you've  tilted  ofE  the  lid  of  the  bottomless 
pit,  and  that  the  devils  are  pouring  out  by  brigades." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Denton,  with  a  look  of  keen  scrutiny,  "you 
could  tell  something  yourself?  " 

"  AVhether  I  could  or  not,"  said  Burleson,  "  is  all  the  same. 
You  know  me  well  enough,  Judge,  to  know  that  I  ic'dl  not  tell 
any  thing  which  would  compromise  anybody  else.  I  am  will- 
ing to  admit  that  I  belonged  to  this  organization,  that  I  was 
the  chief  of  a  count}^  because  I  think  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  do  so  in  order  to  break  it  up ;  but  I  do  not  intend  to 
confess  myself  into  the  penitentiary  nor  on  to  the  gallows.  Yet 
I  would  go  there  sooner  than  to  betray  those  who  have  trusted 
their  lives  and  honor  with  me.  So  far  as  I  can  go  without  such 
betrayal,  I  am  wuUing  to  act  with  you.  That  is  one  reason  I 
wish  you  to  return  to  Verdentou :  I  want  it  clearly  understood 


THE  "REB''    VIEW  OF   IT.  2G7 

that  T  have  renounced  the  Avholo  business.  It  is  by  no  means 
a  safe  proceeding,  and  I  may  have  to  turn  in  with  you,  gentle- 
men, und  fight  for  my  life.  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  propose  to 
make  every  edge  cut,  and,  if  I  go  down,  I  mean  to  have  lots  of 
good  company.  I  would  like  to  have  you  go  in  order  to  be 
convenient  if  the  fight  comes!  " 

Judge  Denton  yielded  to  these  solicitations,  and  accom- 
panied his  friends,  first  sending  word  to  his  family  to  follow 
on  the  next  day. 

Before  the  train  left,  Melville  Gurney  sent  a  servant  to 
Colonel  Servosse,  asking  a  moment's  interview.  Allien  Ser- 
vosse  came  to  his  room,  and,  seeing  his  injury,  asked  the  cause, 
he  betrayed  himself  by  asking,  — 

"  And  has  not  your  daughter  told  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  My  God ! "  said  Servosse,  sinking  into  a  chair,  over- 
whelmed with  amazement.  "  Was  it  you,  Mr.  Gurney  ?  Can 
it  be  that  the  son  of  one  who  has  known  me  so  long  as  your 
father,  even  though  as  an  opponent,  should  have  engaged  in  an 
attempt  on  my  life  V     I  could  not  have  believed  it." 

lie  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  shuddered  as  he 
spoke. 

"I  assure  you.  Colonel  Servosse,"  said  Gurney,  "I  had  no 
idea  that  such  was  the  purpose  of  the  raid,  nor,  indeed,  did  I 
know  its  purpose.  I  was  well  aware  that  it  must  be  an  unlaw- 
ful one,  however,  and  can  not  blame  you  for  the  horror  you 
manifest.  I  am  horrified  myself,  and  am  amazed  that  I  could 
ever  have  regarded  it  otherwise." 

"  I  can  not  understand  it,  —  I  can  not  understand  it,"  said 
the  carpet-bagger.  "  I  always  thought  your  father  was  an 
honest,  high-minded  man,  and  a  good  citizen." 

"  And  so  he  is,  sir,"  said  Gurney  hotly.  "  There  is  none 
better  nor  purer !  " 

"  And  you,"  said  Servosse,  rising,  and  looking  keenly  at  him, 
—  "  7/ou  are  a  murderer  !  " 

"I  suppose,"  answered  Gurney,  with  some  confusion,  "that 
I  should  have  been,  constructively  at  least,  but  for  your 
daughter's  daring  interference." 


268  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

m 

**Nay,  you  were  already,"  said  Servosse  severely.  "You 
had  started  out  on  an  unlawful  errand,  and  were  ready  to  shed 
blood,  if  need  were,  to  accomplish  it,  —  whether  it  were  my 
blood  or  another's  it  is  immaterial  to  consider.  That  is  almost 
always  the  mental  condition  of  the  murderer.  Murder  is 
usually  a  means,  not  an  end." 

*'  It  is  a  hard  word.  Colonel  Servosse;  yet  I  do  not  know  but 
I  must  submit,"  said  Gurney.  "I  wish  to  say,  however,  that 
I  did  not  engage  in  this  at  the  wish  or  suggestion,  nor  with 
the  knowledge,  of  my  father.  Indeed,  my  greatest  trouble 
comes  from  the  fact  that  I  must  inform  him  of  the  fact." 

"Gad!"  said  Burleson,  who  had  entered  unperceived  by 
both,  "  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  so  much  about  that.  He 
belongs  to  it  himself." 

"  John  Burleson !  "  cried  Gurney,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  mind!"  said  Burleson.  "Colonel  Ser- 
vosse is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  take  advantage  of  such  a 
statement  made  by  me  at  this  time."  He  turned,  and  bowed 
toward  Servosse  as  he  spoke. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  latter.  "  I  should  not  think  of  using 
a  private  conversation." 

"It  is  not  that !"  exclaimed  Gurney,  —  "not  that  at  all! 
But  it  is  false !  " 

"H'st!  Steady,  my  young  friend!"  said  Burleson  hotly. 
"I  happen  to  know  whereof  I  speak.  I  was  present,  and 
helped  initiate  him.     Do  you  believe  me  now,  Mel.  Gurney  ?  " 

"Great  heavens!"  exclaimed  Gurney.  "I  did  not  know 
that!     I  would  not  have  believed  it  but  upon  your  assurance." 

"  I  declare,"  said  the  Fool,  "  I  can  not  understand,  —  I  can 
not  understand ! " 

"  AVell,"  said  Burleson,  laughing,  and  taking  Lily's  hat  from 
the  bed,  "  here  is  something  you  can  understand,  I  reckon." 

"My  daughter's  hat!"  said  Servosse  in  surprise,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  Burleson  bluffly,  "  I  brought  it  here. 
You  see,  when  Miss  Lily  rode  out  of  the  pines  last  night,  she 
lost  this;    and  so,  when  she  charged  on   Gurney  there,  ha 


THE   ''REB''   VIEW  OF  IT.  269 

recognized  her,  —  for  it  was  as  light  as  day :  our  chaplain  could 
have  seen  to  read  the  burial-service,  —  and,  being  a  fellow 
that  has  his  wits  about  him,  Gurney  quietly  jogged  on  behind, 
her  after  she  had  shot  him,  with  that  broken  arm  flopping  up 
and  down  at  every  step,  until  he  was  sure  she  had  got  clean 
off,  when  he  came  back  with  a  cock-and-bull  story  about  a 
rabbit  having  scared  his  horse,  and  his  pistol  having  gone  off, 
and  busted  that  arm." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  asked  Comfort  in  surprise. 

"  Lit-er-ally,"  said  Burleson,  with  distinct  enunciation. 
*'  Not  a  man  in  that  camp  had  any  idea  that  a  woman  had 
witnessed  its  proceedings,  until  we  heard  of  your  daughter 
having  interrupted  your  journey.  Even  then  it  was  a  mere 
surmise,  except  with  Gurney  here." 

"Then,"  said  Servosse,  extending  his  hand  to  Gurney,  "it 
seems  I  have  to  thank  you  for  an  intent  to  save  my  daughter." 

"Indeed,  sir,"  replied  Gurney,  "with  that  horse,  she  had 
little  need  of  my  aid." 

"  Young  Lollard  is  not  easily  matched,"  said  Servosse,  with 
some  pride.  "But  that  does  not  detract  from  the  merit  of 
your  intention.  I  suppose,"  he  added,  smiling,  and  touching 
the  hat,  "  that  you  wish  me  to  relieve  you  of  this  toy." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Gurney  earnestly,  "my  request 
for  this  interview  was  because  I  desired  to  ask  your  leave  to 
return  it  to  the  owner  myself." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Servosse  thoughtfully,  "I  do  not  see  but 
you  have  earned  the  right  to  do  so.  I  will  see  if  she  can 
receive  you." 

A  few  moments  later,  Melville  Gurney,  somewhat  weak  and 
tremulous  from  the  loss  of  blood  and  subsequent  excitement, 
came  down  stairs,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  friend  Burleson, 
and  was  ushered  into  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  where  Lily  Ser- 
vosse leaned  upon  her  father's  arm.  Pale  and  trembling,  he 
presented  the  hat  with  a  low  bow,  and  withdrew  without  a 
word. 

"  Well,  I  swear!  "  said  Burleson  a  minute  after,  "  if  I  had 
thought  you  would  show  the  white  feather  just  at  the  last,  I 
never  would  have  seconded  yguj " 


270  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

Comfort  Servosse  never  once  dreamed  that  tlie  trembling 
creature  clinging  to  his  arm,  and  dropping  tears  upon  the  hat 
as  she  brushed  and  picked  at  it,  was  any  thing  more  than  a 
simple  child.     So  he  said,  with  an  amused  smile,  — 

"  It's  not  even  rumpled,  is  it,  dear?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"AND    ALL    THE    WORLD    WAS    IN   A    SEA." 

The  train  which  brought  Lily  and  her  father.  Judge  Denton, 
Burleson,  and  (xurney  to  Verdenton,  did  not  arrive  unnoted. 
The  report  of  Lily's  heroic  ride,  and  of  Burleson's  defection 
from  the  Klan,  had  preceded  it ;  and  a  great  crowd  had  col- 
lected, anxious  for  a  sight  of  the  brave  girl  who  had  courage 
and  wit  enough  to  circumvent  the  Ku-Klux,  and  of  the  yet 
braver  man,  who,  having  been  one  of  their  number,  had  yet 
courage  to  denounce  them. 

AVhat  he  w^ould  say,  what  he  would  do,  there  was  the  utmost 
anxiety  to  know^  For  once  no  imputation  was  made  upon  the 
motives  of  one  who  saw  fit  to  stem  the  popular  current.  Men 
cursed  and  denounced  him;  but  it  was  for  what  he  had  done, 
or  was  supposed  to  have  done,  and  not  on  account  of  the 
motives  which  they  believed  to  have  animated  him. 

Xo  one  attributed  either  cowardice,  ambition,  or  avaricious- 
ness  to  John  Burleson.  He  was  known  to  have  disapproved 
from  the  first,  at  least  of  all  the  violent  features  of  the  organi- 
zation, and  to  have  done  not  a  little  to  prevent  their  being 
carried  into  execution.  He  had  been  advanced  to  be  the  Chief 
of  the  County,  both  because  of  his  known  and  acknowledged 
capacity  for  organization  and  leadership,  and  also  because  this 
very  disinclination  to  promote  unlawful  acts  had  met  the  ap- 
proval of  many  of  the  more  conservative  members  of  the  order. 
As  he  had  said,  he  went  upon  the  raid  which  we  have  describeci 


''AND  ALL   THE   WORLD   WAS  LY  A   SEA.''     271 

simply  to  accommodate  a  friend,  who,  being  required  to  attend, 
had  afterward  sickened.  lie  was  recognized  as  bold,  gener- 
ous, and  impulsive.  He  was  one  of  the  very  few  private  soldiers 
who  survived  the  surrender  of  the  Confederate  armies.  Enter- 
ing the  service  at  the  very  outset  of  the  war,  he  had  never  failed 
to  perform  his  full  duty,  and  not  seldom  had  done  considerably 
more;  yet  he  had  received  no  promotion,  and,  since  the  collapse 
of  the  Rebellion,  not  a  sign  of  any  military  title  had  attached 
itself  to  his  name.  The  man  who  should  have  saluted  him  as 
"  Captain"  would  probably  have  been  whipped  first,  and  invited 
to  drink  afterwards,  for  his  temerity.  The  reason  of  this  was 
twofold.  In  the  first  place,  young  Burleson,  a  man  of  unusu- 
ally broad  and  catholic  feeling,  and  of  varied  personal  experi- 
ence and  wide  observation,  was  as  thoroughly  convinced  of  the 
hopelessness  of  the  Confederate  cause  in  the  field  of  battle  at 
the  outset  of  the  war  as  at  its  close.  This  view  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  declare  on  all  occasions;  and,  when  reproved  for  so 
doing  by  an  upstart  superior,  he  had  the  boldness  and  arrogance 
to  assure  the  official,  that,  if  he  knew  half  as  much  as  himself, 
be  w^ould  desert  to  the  Yankees  iu  two  days.  Besides  this,  it 
waited  his  humor  to  boast  of  his  disinclination  for  a  military 
life.  When  offered  promotion,  he  curtly  declined  it,  on  the 
ground  that  he  did  not  wish  to  do  any  thing  that  might  remove 
his  dislike  for  the  service. 

Of  course  such  a  man,  though  he  had  been  of  the  ripest 
culture  and  most  marked  capacity,  was  only  fitted  for  the 
place  of  a  private  soldier ;  and  so  a  soldier  he  remained,  always 
scornful  of  control,  and  utterly  regardless  of  the  Pharisaical 
distinctions  of  rank,  respected  for  his  unshrinking  bluntness, 
and  feared  for  his  terrible  directness  of  thought,  and  explicit- 
ness  of  statement.  He  was  perhaps  the  most  dangerous  man 
who  could  have  renounced  his  fealty  to  the  Klan. 

As  he  stepped  upon  the  platform  at  Verdenton,  a  man  whom 
he  knew  to  be  a  very  prominent  member  of  the  Klan  touched 
him  upon  the  shoulder,  and  said,  with  a  meaning  look  towards 
the  rear  of  the  train,  — 

"  Let  me  see  you  a  moment." 


272  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"  Oh,  go  to  the  devil ! "  said  Burleson,  in  a  loud  but  good- 
natured  tone  of  voice.  " I  know  what  you  want ;  and  I  had  just 
as  lief  tell  you  here  as  around  the  corner,  or  in  the  camp.  I 
am  neither  afraid  nor  ashamed,  I  am  out  of  it,  and  opposed  to 
it  root  and  branch.  If  any  one  has  any  thing  he  wants  to  say 
or  do  about  it,  he  knows  where  to  find  John  Burleson. 

"Judge  Denton !  "  he  cried  in  the  same  tone,  as  that  gentle- 
man appeared  on  the  platform,  "these  people  are  my  Ku-Klux 
friends  and  neighbors,  who  have  come  to  see  if  John  Burleson 
has  the  pluck  to  renounce  what  he  was  a  fool  for  engaging  in, 
and  knew  himself  to  be  such  at  the  time.  They  don't  look  like 
Ku-Klux,  do  they?  But  they  are  —  nearly  every  man  you  can 
see.  I  don't  believe  there  are  a  dozen  white  men  on  this  plat- 
form whom  I  don't  know  to  be  such,  and  have  not  seen  in  their 
meetings  more  than  once.  They  are  most  of  them  church- 
members,  and  all  of  them  respectable.  You  ought  to  see  them 
with  their  gowns  and  masks  on!  they  look  savage  enough  then. 
You  know  a  good  many  of  them.  Judge,  and  will  get  acquainted 
with  them  all  if  Justice  ever  gets  her  dues.  There's  right 
smart  of  men  here  who  to  my  knowledge  deserve  a  hanging." 

Such  language  as  this  increased  the  consternation  which 
already  prevailed  ;  and,  before  it  was  ended,  nearly  every  white 
man  had  left  the  platform,  and  only  a  crowd  of  wondering 
colored  men  remained  to  grin  applause  to  his  concluding  re- 
marks. He  knew  that  he  had  thrown  a  bomb,  but  he  was  not 
ignorant  that  its  explosion  might  endanger  himself.  He  knew 
very  thoroughly  the  temper  of  the  people  whom  he  had  been 
addressing,  and  did  not  under-estimate  his  own  danger.  So 
when  he  had  bidden  good-by  to  Gurney,  who  went  on  to  his 
home,  he  went  and  assisted  his  other  fellow-travelers  to  enter 
their  carriage.  Then  he  took  the  Fool  aside,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice,  — 

"  Colonel  Servosse,  I  dislike  to  ask  a  favor  of  you;  but  it 
may  be  that  I  shall  be  able  to  render  you  a  like  service  before 
long.  You  know  what  has  occurred.  If  I  remain  here  to- 
night, the  probabilities  are  that  I  shall  not  be  troubled  about 
getting  up  in  the  morning.     I  wish  you  would  invite  me  to 


''AND  ALL   THE   WORLD   WAS  IN  A   SEA.''     273 

Warrington  for  a  day  or  two.  I  do  not  think  you  will  be  at- 
tacked there.  If  you  should,  you  would  not  find  me  entirely 
useless  in  the  defense.  I  think  we  three  would  make  a  bad 
crowd  for  any  force  to  attack.  In  a  short  time  we  can  tell 
what  will  be  the  result.  Either  they  will  cry  for  mercy,  or  we 
must  fight.     I  don't  know  which  it  will  be  as  yet." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  Mr.  Burleson!"  said  Servosse  heartily. 
"  I  have  been  studying  for  the  last  hour,  as  to  whether  I  ought 
not  to  invite  both  you  and  your  friend." 

"  Oh,  he  is  all  right!  "  said  Burleson  lightly.  "He  is  not 
tainted  with  my  offense.  No  one  regards  him  now  except  as 
the  poor  fellow  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  shot  by  your 
daughter." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Servosse  apologetically,  "  I  have  become 
so  suspicious  since  I  have  been  a  'carpet-bagger,'  that  I  am 
never  quite  sure  whether  it  is  expected  or  desired  that  I  should 
either  tender  or  receive  hospitality  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Besides  that,  you  will  permit  me  to  confess  that  I  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  you  were  in  earnest  until  within  the  last  few 
minutes.  Of  course  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  at  Warring- 
ton, and  hope  you  may  find  it  both  safe  and  agreeable  there, 
though  I  confess  I  share  your  apprehensions." 

It  was  a  very  thoughtful  company  which  drove  to  Warring- 
ton that  evening.  Metta,  with  the  overwrought  Lily  in  her 
arms,  listened,  with  overflowing  eyes  and  irrepressible  sobs,  to 
the  girl's  broken  recital  of  that  adventure  which  had  been 
so  perilous  to  her,  and  so  providential  to  her  father  and  one  of 
their  guests,  whose  hearts  were  of  course  deeply  affected  at 
the  thought  of  the  barbarous  death  they  had  escaped.  The 
other  guest,  realizing  even  more  clearly  than  they  both  what 
they  had  escaped  and  what  still  impended,  was  deeply  con- 
cerned lest  he  had  added  to  the  peril  of  those  with  whom  he 
had  sought  shelter. 

A  few  colored  people  had  collected  at  the  depot,  anxious  to 
welcome  those  in  whom  they  took  so  deep  an  interest,  after  the 
great  peril  they  had  escaped.  A  few  of  them  had  spoken  to 
the  Fool ;  and  all  had  manifested  a  sense  of  the  utmost  satis- 


274  A    FOOL'S  ERRAXD. 

faction,  both  at  their  arrival  and  at  what  had  transpired  at  the 
station,  but  made  no  clamorous  demonstrations  of  joy.  Hardly- 
had  they  started  for  home,  however,  than  it  became  evident 
that  the  excitement  extended  to  all  classes  of  society.  From 
almost  every  house  along  tl*e  road  they  saw  white  faces  peering 
at  them  with  troubled  and  apprehensive  looks,  while  the  cabin 
of  every  colored  man  gave  them  looks  and  w^ords  of  cheerful 
greeting ;  and,  long  before  they  reached  AVarrington,  it  became 
evident  that  the  negroes  were  hastening  from  all  directions  to 
meet  Servosse.  Arrived  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  home, 
the  Fool  found  that  the  news  of  his  coming  had  gone  before, 
as  well  as  the  report  in  regard  to  Burleson's  defection  from 
the  Klan  ;  and  a  great  crowd  of  colored  people,  as  well  as 
many  of  their  white  political  associates,  had  gathered  to  con- 
gratulate them  on  their  escape,  and  to  make  inquiry  as  to  the 
other  report. 

It  was  a  most  cordial  welcome  which  the  Fool  and  his  brave 
daughter  received  from  these  neighbors ;  and  the  presence  of 
Judge  Denton  and  Mr.  Burleson  fully  confirmed  the  rumor  in 
regard  to  the  latter.  Several  parties  who  seemed  ill  at  ease- 
with  the  company  which  had  gathered  on  the  lawn  were 
cordially  greeted  by  Burleson  in  his  loud,  careless  manner  ; 
but  they  were  rendered  still  more  uncomfortable  by  this,  and 
soon  slunk  away,  one  by  one,  and  left  only  the  constantly 
increasing  crowd  of  colored  men  and  friendly  neighbors,  whose 
gratulations  could  not  find  sufficient  words. 

As  night  came  on,  it  became  evident  that  these  good  friends, 
apprehensive  of  an  attack  from  the  Klan,  had  determined  to 
stand  guard  about  the  Fool's  house.  This  was  deemed  unad- 
visable;  and,  after  thanking  them  again  for  their  sympathy, 
he  requested  them  to  disperse,  saying  that  ample  precautions 
had  been  taken  to  secure  the  safety  of  AVarrington,  and  nam- 
ing a  number  of  their  most  devoted  white  friends  who  would 
sleep  there  that  night.  So  with  cheers,  and  overflowing  wishes 
for  their  peace  and  happiness,  the  colored  people  dispersed, 
and  an  eventful  night  settled  down  upon  Warrington. 


''AND  ALL   TUB   WORLD   WAS  IN  A   SEA.''     275 

It  was  a  little  after  dark,  and  ^vhile  the  company  at  War- 
rington were  seated  at  supper,  that  a  man  rode  up  to  the  gate, 
%vho,  after  the  customary  hail  had  been  answered  by  a  servant, 
made  some  cautious  inquiries  as  to  who  was  within,  and  then 
asked  to  see  Mr.  Eyebright,  a  prominent  Union  man  of  the 
neighborhood.  On  being  informed  that  he  was  at  supper,  he 
finally  consented,  not  without  considerable  hesitation  and  evi- 
dent doubt,  to  enter  and  take  a  seat  in  the  Fool's  library, 
enjoining  again  and  again  upon  the  servant  that  only  he  whom 
lie  had  inquired  for  should  be  informed  of  his  presence. 

Mr.  Eyebright  was  a  portly,  well-to-do  planter,  whose  bluff 
and  hearty  manliness  gave  everybody  the  utmost  confidence  in 
his  sincerity  and  kindliness.  He  had  been  noted  for  his  un- 
sparing denunciations  of  the  Klan  at  all  times  and  in  all 
places.  To  hear  him  lavish  curses  upon  them  as  he  filled  his 
pipe,  or  puffed  at  the  long  reed  stem  before  a  glowing  fire, 
a  stranger  would  have  imagined  that  nothing  would  have 
afforded  him  more  intense  and  unadulterated  satisfaction  than 
the  utter  destruction  of  the  Klan,  and  the  incineration  of  each 
and  every  one  of  its  individual  members,  unless  he  should 
note  the  twinkle  in  his  soft,  lazy-rolling  brown  eye,  or  mark 
the  lurking  smiles  that  passed  over  his  rotund  countenance, 
or  hid  away  at  the  corners  of  his  wide,  inobile  mouth.  At 
home  he  was  known  as  the  gruffest  and  kindliest  of  neighbors; 
abroad  he  was  accounted  one  of  the  ■  most  sanguinary  and 
revengeful  of  the  degraded  Radicals.  A  noticeable  birth- 
mark had  given  him  a  ludicrous  nickname,  which  had  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  confer  upon  one  of  the  kindliest  a  ad 
most  peaceful  of  men  a  reputation  for  blood-thirstiness  and 
savagery  almost  equal  to  that  of  the  original  Blue-beard.  This 
quaint  and  humorous  giant,  with  his  assumed  ferocity,  abun- 
dance of  unmeaning  oaths,  and  real  goodness  of  heart,  was 
a  special  favorite  of  the  Fool,  whose  devotedness  he  heartily 
returned.  He  had  insisted  upon  staying  as  one  of  the  sort  of 
guard  of  honor  that  night,  upon  the  ground  that  he  would  be 
of  the  utmost  value  in  case  of  an  attack,  which  was  very  true ; 
but  the  Fool  knew  very  well  that  the  prospect  of  a  jolly  uight 


276  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

beside  the  smoldering  fire  in  the  library,  with  abundance  of 
good  company,  and  now  and  then  a  sup  of  good  peach-brandy, 
made  at  his  own  still,  and  softened  with  honey,  interspersed 
with  pipes  and  politics,  and  stories  of  "the  good  old  time  when 
we  had  a  country,"  had  far  more  attractions  for  his  fat  friend 
than  a  night  of  actual  guard-duty. 

As  they  filed  out  of  the  dining-room,  Eyebright  laid  one 
ponderous  arm  on  the  Fool's  shoulder,  and,  extending  the  other 
over  his  own  expansive  person,  remarked,  — 

"After  such  a  supper  as  that,  Colonel,  one  could  not  help 
enjoying  a  smoke." 

Servosse  merely  answered  with  a  low  chuckle,  to  which 
F-yebright  responded,  — 

"I  know  what  you  mean,  you  rascal !  You  think  I  just  staid 
here  to-night  to  have  a  good  time.  Suppose  I  did,  now.  It's 
not  often  we  poor  devils  can  get  a  dozen  good  fellows  together, 
and  I  am  for  making  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  I  tell  you, 
you  don't  know  how  hungry  I  get  sometimes  to  hear  somebody 
else  talk  sense  beside  mj^self  [with  a  laugh] !  There's  Judge 
Denton,  I'm  going  to  pull  him  out  to-night.  They  say  he's 
just  about  the  best  company  in  the  State  —  that  is,  they  used 
to  say  so  before  he  became  one  of  us  'scalawags.'  I  s'pose 
that's  had  a  bad  effect  on  him,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us. 
There's  that  Burleson :  I  like  him.  He'd  be  a  gootl  fellow  if 
he  hadn't  been  a  Ku-Klux.  Cussed  if  I  can  ever  get  over 
that!  Oh,  don't  tell  me  he's  out  of  it  now,  and  all  that!  It's 
like  sheep-killing  in  a  dog :  once  they've  learned  how,  they 
never  forget.  I  wouldn't  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  him  for 
the  State !  I  wouldn't,  I  swear !  I  should  expect  to  wake  up 
with  my  throat  cut,  at  the  very  least." 

"  Hush !     He'll  hear  you,"  said  Servosse. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing  I  "  responded  Eyebright.  "  I've  beex 
trying  to  devil  him  all  the  evening.  He  asked  me  at  supper  — 
you  were  serving  the  meat,  and  didn't  hear  it — if  I  didn't 
think  Judge  Denton  and  himself  represented  the  lion  and  the 
lamb  very  well.  I  told  him  I'd  never  heard  before  of  a  lion 
that  took  his  lamb  roasted." 


''AND  ALL   THE  WORLD  WAS  IN  A   SEA.''     277 

Just  then  the  servant  who  had  waited  on  the  door  touched 
him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Wants  to  see  me,  you  say,  Jim?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 
"  What  does  the  damn  Ku-Klux  want  of  me,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  sah,"  answered  Jim.  "  Sed  he  want  ter  see  you 
mighty  pertickeler." 

"  He  didn't  say  what  about  ?  " 

"  No,  sah." 

"  Well,  give  me  a  light,"  said  he,  feeling  in  one  pocket  after 
another  for  his  pipe,  "  and  let  me  go  and  see  what  'tis,  and  send 
him  off.  We  don't  want  no  such  cattle  around  here  to-night, 
Jim.     Heh  ?     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"In  de  libery,  sah." 

So,  puffing  his  long  reed  pipe,  Eyebright  rolled  down  the 
steps  of  the  porch,  and  across  the  intervening  space  to  the  de- 
tached wooden  building  which  served  as  the  Fool's  office  and 
library.  Pushing  the  door  open  with  his  stick,  he  ascended  the 
steps  and  entered,  exclaiming,  as  the  door  swung  together  be- 
hind him,  — 

"  Hello,  Kirkwood,  is  this  you  ?  What  the  devil  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

The  rest  of  the  company  drifted  into  the  spacious  sitting- 
room,  and  for  half  an  hour  Eyebright  and  his  visitor  were 
forgotten.  At  the  end  of  that  time  his  rotund  face  appeared 
at  the  door,  and  he  hastily  motioned  to  the  Fool  to  come  out 
into  the  hall.  As  soon  as  he  came,  and  the  sitting-room  door 
was  shut,  Eyebright  caught  his  hand,  and  said,  in  tones  trem- 
bling with  excitement,  — 

"  Colonel,  I'll  be  damned  if  the  bottom  hasn't  fallen  out  at 
last !  Don't  ask  me  any  questions.  Bring  Judge  Denton  over 
to  the  office.  Quick !  Don't  let  on  that  any  thing  is  up !  I 
daren't  show  my  head  in  there :  everybody  would  know  some- 
thing was  wrong.  But  you  Yankees  —  you  could  keep  your 
faces  straight  if  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end!" 

The  Fool  did  as  requested;  and,  upon  their  entering  the 
office,  was  surprised  to  find  there  a  young  man  of  good  family 
in  the  neighborhood,  whom  Mr.  Eyebright  introduced  to  the 
judge  as  Ralph  Kirkwood. 


278  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"He  says  he's  got  something  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Denton, 
which,  judging  from  what  he's  told  me,  will  be  of  interest  to  a 
good  many." 

Eyebright  spoke  with  a  great  effort  at  self-restraint. 

"Yes,"  said  Kirkwood  absently:  "there's  a  thing  on  my 
mind  I've  wanted  to  get  off  it  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  will  hear  any  thing  you  have  to  say,  Mr.  Kirkwood,"  said 
the  judge  Mith  some  formality;  "but  I  must  warn  you  that 
any  thing  you  say  must  be  purely  voluntary,  and  is  given  with- 
out threat  or  promise.     I  can  not  hear  it  otherwise." 

"  So  Mr.  Eyebright  said,"  responded  Kirkwood,  without  look- 
ing up. 

"And  I  must  further  advise  you,"  remarked  the  judge, 
"that  any  thing  you  may  say  here  may  be  used  against  you 
upon  trial  for  any  crime." 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  said  Kirkwood  after  a  moment. 
"I  can  not  keep  still  any  longer.  I  haven't  had  a  good  night's 
rest  since  it  occurred.  I  went  to  Texas,  and  it  followed  me 
there.  I  came  home,  and  it  came  with  me.  It's  been  with 
me  all  the  time,  and  given  me  no  rest,  night  nor  day.  I  can 
see  him  now  just  as  plain  as  I  saw  him  that  night!  " 

"  See  who  ?  "  asked  the  judge  in  surprise. 

"  Jerry  Hunt,"  responded  Kirkwood,  in  the  same  matter-of- 
fact,  even  tone,  and  without  looking  up  from  the  smoldering 
fire  in  the  gi'ate  on  which  his  gaze  had  all  the  time  rested. 

If  he  could  have  seen  the  look  of  horror  and  amazement 
which  his  auditors  exchanged,  it  would  perhaps  have  surprised 
him  almost  as  much  as  his  declaration  did  them.  Surrounded 
year  after  year  by  this  terrible  organization,  whose  secret  blows 
had  fallen  upon  every  side,  with  no  tangible  clew  to  their 
source,  there  had  grown  up  in  the  minds  of  these  men  a  con- 
viction that  there  would  some  time  come  a  day  when  confi- 
dence w'ould  be  lost  between  the  perpetrators  of  these  crimes, 
and  they  would  turn  upon  each  other,  and  confess  their  evil 
deeds.  They  thought,  that,  when  that  time  did  come,  there 
would  be  a  race  to  be  among  the  first  to  confess.  It  is  true 
there  had  been   before  some   defections  from  this  body,  who 


''AND  ALL    THE   WORLD   WAS  IN  A  SEA."     279 

had  disclosed  something,  in  a  general  way,  of  its  workings, 
but  nothing  of  any  importance.  Indeed,  their  disclosures  had 
been  regarded  with  more  of  ridicule  than  respect,  because  of 
the  conspicuous  ignorance  which  they  manifested  of  what 
they  pretended  to  disclose.  They  were  usually  attended,  too, 
with  some  circumstance  of  suspicion  antecedently  or  subse- 
quently occurring,  which  had  destroyed  almost  all  confidence 
in  their  verity,  or  the  good  faith  of  the  parties  making  them. 
That  they  should  at  this  peculiar  moment  be  confronted  with 
the  prospect  of  a  revelation  of  one  of  the  most  noted  of  its 
crimes  may  well  have  startled  them  from  their  composure. 
Servosse  remembered  Eyebright's  declaration,  "The  bottom 
has  fallen  out  at  last !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Jerry  Hunt  ?  "  asked  the  judge, 
as  soon  as  he  could  master  his  emotion. 

"  I  know  a  heap  about  his  death,"  said  Kirk  wood,  with  a 
sigh,  —  "a  heap  more'n  I  wish  I  did." 

"  Is  it  that  you  wish  to  tell  me  about?  " 

"  Yes,  —  that  for  one  thing." 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  "this  thing  must  be  done  deliber- 
ately and  in  order.  You  remember  my  caution.  —  Colonel 
Servosse,  will  you  take  a  pen,  and  write  down  what  Mr. 
Kirkwood  says.  —  Please  lock  the  door,  Mr.  Eyebright,  so  that 
we  may  not  be  interrupted." 

Eyebright  did  as  directed.  Servosse  placed  himself  at  a 
table  with  writing-materials  before  him;  and  the  judge  con- 
tinued, — 

"  Xow,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  we  will  hear  any  thing  you  have  to 
say.  Speak  slowly,  so  that  it  may  be  written  down.  Take 
your  own  course  and  your  own  time." 

"  Well,"  said  Kirkwood,  "  I  suppose  you  want  to  know  it  all. 
I  was  a  student  here  at  Verdenton  in  the  year  18 — .  I  be- 
longed to  the  Klan,  —  almost  all  the  boys  in  the  school  did. 
I  belonged  to  Camp  No.  4,  which  met  at  Martin's  most  of 
the  time.  The  sheriff,  Colonel  Abert,  was  a  member,  and 
was  one  of  the  officers.  I  think  he  was  what  they  call  a 
South    Commander.     My  uncle  was   one   of   the   officers   too. 


280  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

We  were  all  sworn  to  obey  orders.  The  oath  was  very  strong: 
and  we  were  all  sworn  to  kill  anybody  who  did  not  obey,  or 
who  revealed  any  of  the  secrets  of  the  order.  I  was  at  ]Mr. 
rioyt's  school — had  been  there  better  than  a  year:  I  was  pre- 
paring for  the  ministry  then.  I  had  been  on  two  or  three 
raids  when  people  were  whipped,  and  never  thought  much 
about  it:  in  fact,  it  seemed  right  good  fun,  riding  round  in 
disguise  at  night,  frightening  niggers,  and  white  folks  too 
sometimes.  I  didn't  think  much  about  whether  it  was  right 
or  not.  There  were  plenty  of  old  men  in  it  who  decided  all 
such  things,  and  men  that  1  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
think  well  of :  so  I  supposed  it  was  all  right. 

"  One  day  my  uncle  came  in  and  brought  my  horse.  He 
put  him  in  ISlr.  Crather's  barn.  Then  he  came  to  me,  and 
told  me  that  Camp  No.  4  had  got  a  decree  from  a  Rockford 
camp  to  make  a  raid  in  Yerdenton.  You  know  that  is  the 
way  they  do.  A  camp  hardly  ever  executes  its  own  decree. 
They  send  it  to  another  camp,  or  two  or  three  others;  and  the 
camps  that  get  it  have  to  detail  men  to  execute  it.  He  said 
our  camp  would  send  a  squad  which  would  meet  another  squad 
from  Camp  No.  9,  at  the  forks  of  the  road  near  the  Widow 
Foster's ;  and  I  was  ordered  to  meet  them,  and  act  as  guide 
for  them,  as  I  was  well  acquainted  about  Yerdenton.  He 
asked  me  if  I  knew  where  about  half  a  dozen  white  men  and 
about  as  many  of  the  leading  niggers  lived.  I  told  him  I  did. 
He  said  my  disguise  was  in  my  saddle-bags  on  the  colt.  I  was 
to  meet  the  raid  just  above  the  Widow  Foster's  at  nine  o'clock. 

"  I  thought  it  was  all  right;  and,  when  the  hour  came,  I  rode 
out  to  the  Widow  Foster's,  and  met  our  folks.  Pretty  soon 
afterward  the  party  came  from  No.  9.  The  East  Commander 
of  that  camp  was  among  them,  and  he  took  charge.  His  name 
is  Watson.  He's  here  in  the  county  yet.  We  went  into  an  old 
pine  field  opposite  the  Widow  Foster's,  and  put  on  our  dis- 
guises.    We  had  just  been  in  our  own  clothes  before. 

"  Then  AVatson  took  command,  and  organized  the  raid  very 
strictly.  He  asked  me  if  I  knew  Jerry  Hunt's  house.  I  told 
him  I  did.     He  said  that  was  the  man  they  wanted.     Then  he 


''AND  ALL  THE  WORLD  WAS  IN  A  SEA."    281 

said  that  they  had  a  decree  from  the  Rockford  Camp  to  visit 
the  extreme  penalty  (that  meaut  kill,  always)  on  Jerry  Hunt, 
but  nothing  was  said  as  to  how :  so  he  left  that  to  the  camp 
then.  It  was  voted  that  it  should  be  by  hanging.  I  don't 
reckon  anybody  voted  against  it. 

''Then  we  started  on.  I  rode  beside  Mr.  Watson,  in  the  lead. 
When  we  came  near  the  colored  village  west  of  the  town,  he 
ordered  out  pickets  to  stop  on  every  corner,  and  some  patrol- 
lers  to  ride  up  and  down  the  streets,  and  prevent  any  inter- 
ruption. They  had  orders  to  shoot  anybody  that  gave  the 
alarm,  or  interfered  with  them  at  all.  Then  we  went  to  Jerry 
Hunt's  house;  and  Mr.  Watson  tried  the  door,  and  it  wasn't 
even  locked.  He  opened  it,  and  thought  at  first  there  was 
nobody  there.  Then  we  went  in  ;  and  Watson  struck  a  match, 
and  there  was  Uncle  Jerry,  laying  there  on  the  bed,  sleeping 
as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  a  child.  We  waked  him  up,  took 
the  bed-cord  out  of  the  bed,  and  tied  him  on  to  the  horse  next 
to  the  one  I  rode.  He  never  said  nothing  after  we  waked  him 
up,  only,  '  Lord  Jesus,  have  mercy  I '  '  Father,  forgive  'em  ! ' 
and  '  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly ! '  At  least,  I  didn't 
understand  any  thing  more.  He  was  praying  all  the  way  in, 
and  never  oifered  any  resistance  at  all. 

"  When  we  got  in  there,  they  rode  down  by  the  trees  nigh 
the  Court-House.  I  had  been  feeling  mighty  bad  all  the  way; 
and  when  they  halted,  and  began  to  make  preparations,  I  rode 
out  towards  the  Court-House,  so  as  not  to  see  any  thing  more." 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

"  Well,  did  you  see  any  thing  more?  " 

"Yes,"  he  responded  with  a  sigh.  "I  couldn't  help  looking 
around  after  a  while;  and,  just  as  I  did  so,  some  one  drew  a 
match,  and  held  it  up,  and  I  saw  the  face  of  Uncle  Jerry  as  he 
hung  there  on  the  limb.  I've  been  seeing  it  ever  since,  gentle^ 
men." 

"  Did  you  recognize  any  of  the  men  ?  "  said  the  judge. 

"Must  I  answer  that?  "  asked  Kirkwood. 

"Just  as  you  choose,"  said  the  judge  coolly.  "You  have 
already  confessed  enough  for  your  own  conviction." 


282  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Kirkwood  thoughtfully.  "  And  they  got 
me  iuto  this  trouble,  and  thousands  of  other  good  young  men 
too.  I'm  going  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  gentlemen,  and 
tell  all  I  know.  My  conscience  would  not  be  any  easier,  if  I 
screened  these  men,  than  it  is  now.  Yes,  I  recognized  a  good 
many." 

Then  he  named  some  forty  men  whom  he  could  remember 
having  seen,  and  said  he  had  nothing  more  to  say  about  it. 
What  he  had  said  was  read  over  to  him,  and  signed  by  him. 

"I  shall  have  to  hold  you  to  answer  a  charge  of  murder, 
Mr.  Kirk  wood,"  said  the  judge,  with  a  choked  voice. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Kirkwood.  "And  I'm  guilty:  I  don't 
deny  the  fact.  But  I  shall  sleep  quiet  to-night,  which  is  w^hat 
I  haven't  done  before  since  that  night.  I've  only  one  request 
to  make,  Judge." 

"  ^^Tiat  is  that  ?  " 

"Don't  send  me  to  the  jail  in  Yerdenton.  1  don't  want  to 
dodge  or  run,  —  'twouldn't  do  any  good  to  do  so  now,  —  but, 
you  know,  if  I  were  put  in  that  jail  now,  I'd  be  hanging  on  the 
same  limb  they  hung  Jerry  Hunt  on,  before  two  days  were 
over." 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  be  held  in  custody  without 
being  sent  to  jail  at  that  time.  And  then  the  three  over- 
wrought men  turned  to  each  other,  and  clasped  hands  solemnly, 
with  the  full  conviction  that  "the  bottom  had  indeed  fallen 
out,"  and  that  thereafter  it  might  be  said  of  that  section,  that 
"the  nights  are  wholesome." 

There  had  been  many  knocks  at  the  door  in  the  mean  time. 
It  was  now  opened,  and  their  friends  who  crowded  in  were 
briefly  informed  of  the  facts.  Servosse  slipped  away  into  the 
house,  and  informed  his  wife  and  daughter. 

But  the  night  was  not  yet  ended.  By  some  strange  intuition, 
these  facts  seemed  to  have  transpired  almost  before  they  had 
taken  place.  Others  came  to  confess  other  crimes,  and  to 
confirm  the  confession  of  young  Kirkwood.  Hour  by  hour 
evidence  accumulated,  until,  that  very  night,  all  the  ramifica- 
tions of  the  Klan  in  that  county,  and  much  in  adjacent  ones, 


''AND  ALL  THE  WORLD  WAS  IN  A  SEA^    283 

were  laid  bare  before  the  magistrate.  It  was  a  strange  scene 
indeed;  and  the  party  who  had  assembled  at  Warrington  in 
expectation  of  a  night  of  vigil  were  kept  awake  by  excite- 
ment, surprise,  and  gratitude  at  the  marvelous  turn  of  affairs. 

Thomas  Denton  was  one  of  those  men  who  believed  that 
crime  should  be  punished,  not  from  resentment  toward  the 
offenders,  but  for  what  he  deemed  the  safety  of  others,  and 
especially  the  well-being  of  future  generations.  He  therefore 
began  the  next  day  to  issue  the  proper  processes  of  law,  and 
pushed  with  vigor  the  prosecutions,  sitting  day  by  day  as  a  com- 
mitting magistrate,  taking  the  confessions  of  hundreds  whose 
awakened  fears  laid  bare  the  hidden  mechanism  of  thousands 
of  acts  of  violence.  Those  whose  confessions  related  to  the  most 
trivial  and  unimportant  of  the  personal  outrages  were  released 
upon  their  own  recognizances  merely,  or  w  ere  dismissed  with  a 
sharp  rebuke.  Those  guilty  of  more  serious  crimes  were 
bound  as  witnesses.  Many  arrests  were  made,  and  a  univer- 
sal reign  of  terror  of  the  law  seemed  impending  among  those 
who  had  so  recently  terrorized  others.  Already  the  line  of 
examination  was  threatening  hundreds  who  had  been  unsus- 
pected, and  had  involved  other  hundreds  who  v/ere  deemed 
equally  immaculate. 

No  one  was  more  astounded  or  distressed  at  the  revelations 
made  than  the  Fool.  He  could  not  understand  how  men  of  the 
highest  Christian  character,  of  the  most  exalted  probity,  and  of 
the  keenest  sense  of  honor,  could  be  the  perpetrators,  encour- 
agers,  or  excusers  of  such  acts.  He  thought  that  the  churches 
ought  to  be  hung  in  black,  that  the  pulpit  should  resound  with 
warning,  and  the  press  teem  with  angry  denunciation.  He 
could  not  understand  how  the  one  should  be  silent,  and  the 
other  should  palliate  or  excuse.  Of  excuse  or  palliation  he  di«l 
not  deem  that  there  could  be  any  thing  worthy  of  consideration. 
The  suggestion  that  it  was  personal  hostility,  or  a  semi-public 
animosity  against  individuals,  which  animated  these  acts  of 
violence,  he  deemed  unworthy  of  a  moment's  thought,  for  three 
reasons,  —  because  it  was  negatived  by  the  purpose  and  scope  of 


284  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

the  organization,  because  it  was  denied  by  all  the  confessions 
of  repentant  members,  and  because  the  victims  were  uniformly 
of  one  mode  of  political  thought,  or  had  specific  relations  which 
placed  them  in  antagonism  with  the  purposes  of  the  organi- 
zation. 

Yet  the  pulpit  kept  silent,  and  the  press  excused.  The  Fool 
knew  not  what  to  think.  There  were  hundreds  of  these  men 
whom  he  knew  well,  and  esteemed  highly.  Were  they  deliber- 
ately savage  and  vicious,  or  was  he  in  error?  Was  there  any 
absolute  standard  of  right,  or  were  religion  and  morality  merely 
relative  and  incidental  terms?  Was  that  right  in  Georgia 
which  was  wrong  in  Maine  ?  Were  those  ideas  of  liberty  and  of 
universal  right,  in  which  he  had  been  reared,  eternal  principles, 
or  merely  convictions,  —  impulses  of  the  moment?  He  could 
not  tell.  He  began  to  doubt  even  his  own  experience  and 
reason. 

Never  was  the  horror  which  attended  this  secret  organization 
so  fully  realized.  Even  those  who  had  suffered  most  were 
moved  to  pity.  Now  that  the  law,  stem  and  inexorable,  was 
about  to  lay  its  hand  upon  them,  the  cry  for  charity  and  mercy 
came  up  from  every  comer.  The  beauty  of  peace  and  recon- 
ciliation was  heralded  throughout  the  land. 

Fortunately,  the  Legislatures  of  the  several  States  were  in 
session,  and  most  of  them  passed  immediately  an  act  of 
amnesty  and  pardon  for  all  who  had  committed  acts  of  violence 
in  disguise,  or  at  the  instigation  of  any  secret  organization; 
and  in  the  excess  of  their  zeal,  and  lest  it  should  be  supposed 
that  they  desired  to  screen  only  their  friends,  they  extended 
their  mantle  of  forgiveness  so  as  to  cover  apparently  the  inno- 
cent as  well  as  the  guilty ;  those  who  sought  no  pardon,  as 
well  as  the  kneeling  suppliants.  In  short,  they  pardoned  not 
only  the  perpetrators  of  these  outrages,  but,  in  a  reckless  de- 
termination to  forgive,  they  even  pardoned  the  victims!  In  this 
act  of  wholesale  forgiveness  they  included  not  only  the  mem- 
bers of  the  "Ku-Klux  Klan^"  the  "Invisible  Empire,"  the 
*'  Constitutional  Union  Guards,"  and  other  organizations  which 
Had  constituted  orders  or  degrees  of  the  Klan,  but   also  the 


''LIGHT  SHINETH  IN  DARKNESS."         285 

members  of  the  "  Union  Leagues,"  "  Red  Strings,"  and  other 
secret  societies,  for  all  acts  done  in  pursuance  of  the  counsels 
of  such  societies.  Strangely  enough  these  societies  were  not 
known  to  have  counseled  any  unlawful  acts ;  but  these  legis- 
lators were  bound  to  show  that  "  the  quality  of  mercy  is  not 
strained." 

They  took  care,  however,  not  to  pardon  any,  even  the  least, 
infraction  of  the  law,  or  assumption  of  power,  committed  by 
the  Executive,  or  any  one  in  authority,  for  the  purpose  and  with 
the  intent  of  repressing  and  punishing  such  acts,  or  protect- 
ing the  helpless  victims  therof.  There  are  some  things  which 
can  not  be  forgiven,  even  in  an  era  of  ''  reconciliation  " ! 

So  the  Ku-Klux  was  buried  ;  and  such  is  the  influence  ot 
peace  and  good-will,  when  united  with  amnesty  and  pardon, 
that  in  a  twelvemonth  it  was  forgotten,  and  he  who  chanced 
to  refer  to  so  old  and  exploded  a  joke  was  greeted  with  the 
laughter-provoking  cry  of  the  "  bloody  shirt." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

"light   SHINETH   IN   DARKNESS." 

Well,  time  went  on  ;•  and,  twelve  years  from  the  day  when 
Lee  surrendered  under  the  apple-tree  at  Appomattox,  there  was 
another  surrender,  and  the  last  of  the  governments  organized 
under  the  policy  of  reconstruction  fell  into  the  hands  of  those 
who  had  inaugurated  and  carried  on  war  against  the  Nation ; 
who  had  openly  opposed  the  theory  of  reconstruction,  had  per- 
sistently denied  its  legality  or  the  binding  nature  of  its  prom- 
ises, and  had  finally,  with  secret,  organized  violence,  suppressed 
and  neutralized  the  element  on  which  it  had  depended  for  sup- 
port. It  was  true,  that,  in  form  and  letter,  the  laws  of  that 
period  remained :  in  spirit  and  in  substance   they  were   abro- 


286  A    FOOL'S   ERRAND. 

gated.  Yet  the  Nation  looked  on  without  wonder  or  alarm, 
and  by  its  executive  head  testified  a  somewhat  more  than  tacit 
approval  of  the  result. 

That  those  governments  should  fail  was  no  matter  of  sur- 
prise to  the  Fool.  He  had  anticipated  and  foretold  failure 
from  the  first.  He  had  always  believed  that  they  were  pre- 
natally  infected  with  the  seeds  of  fatal  disease.  He  had  looked 
for  them  to  disappear.  Their  dissolution,  and  the  resumption 
of  some  other  relation  to  the  government,  would  hardly  have 
surprised  him.  He  was  ready  to  acknowledge  that  the  rule  of 
majorities,  when  majorities  are  composed  of  the  weak,  illiterate, 
and  poor,  is  not  likely  to  be  successful.  All  that  was  involved 
in  the  failure  of  practical  reconstruction  he  was  ready  to  admit, 
and  willing  to  see  the  steps  taken  in  error  retraced.  For  a 
time,  however,  he  was  staggered  to  note  what  an  utter  reversal 
of  the  decision  made  upon  the  field  of  battle  had  been  effected. 

Then  he  began  to  study  the  matter  more  in  the  aggregate, 
and  found  that  he  had  hitherto  been  blinded  by  details.  The 
object-plate  on  which  he  gazed  had  been  too  near  the  retina  to 
be -clearly  pictured  thereon.  He  reviewed  the  course  of  events 
from  ante  helium  times ;  and  what  he  now  saw  was  this  :  — 

First,  A  people  proud,  brave,  and  fond  of  self-laudation,  who 
had  been  joined  in  formal  union  with  a  people  less  showy,  but 
more  thrifty;  less  boastful,  but  more  resolute;  less  self-asser- 
tive, but  more  industrious.  In  this  union  the  former  had  ruled, 
until  the  right  to  dominate  had  seemed  almost  inherent;  and 
finally,  when  their  aI'I  was  thwarted  by  an  aroused  majority, 
earnestly  believing  themselves  to  be  oppressed  beyond  endur- 
ance, they  flew  to  arms,  and  contested  with  marvelous  courage 
and  tenacity  for  the  right  to  sever  the  compact  which  bound 
them  to  the  other.  Failing  in  this,  they  were  at  the  will  of  the 
conqueror ;  to  which  they  submitted  sullenly,  but  silently,  not 
deeming  it  a  matter  of  right,  not  enforced  by  any  sense  of 
duty  or  obligation  of  honor,  but  simply  yielding  because  they 
had  been  conquered,  and  were  compelled  to  submit. 

Second,  Among  the  terms  prescribed  for  this  subjugated 
people  was  one  condition  which  required  that  a  lately  servile 


''LIGHT  SHINETH  IN  DARKNESS."         287 

race  dwelling  among  them  —  which  was  of  necessity  not  only 
servile,  but  poor  and  ignorant  —  should  be  admitted  to  an  equal 
share  and  voice  in  the  government  with  themselves.  This 
race,  as  it  chanced,  was  earnestly  and  devoutly  regarded  by 
them  as  inherently  and  unutterably  inferior  and  degraded,  so 
tiiat  even  its  generic  name  had  become  an  epithet  of  scorn  and 
contempt.  Until  the  hour  of  their  subjugation,  this  inferior 
race  had  not  been  regarded  by  them  or  the  nation  as  worthy  of 
possessing  any  inherent  rights.  The  law  had  regarded  them 
as  mere  chattels ;  and  it  had  passed  into  a  proverb  in  the  nation, 
that  they  had  "no  rights  which  white  men  were  bound  to 
respect."  To  buy,  to  sell,  to  task,  to  whip,  to  mayhem  this 
race  at  will,  had  been  from  immemorial  days  a  right  which  the 
now  subjugated  people  had  claimed  and  exercised,  and  which 
had  been  conceded  and  admitted  in  their  previous  union  with 
their  conquerors.  It  had  also  been  a  part  of  their  religious 
belief,  and  had  been  taught  from  their  pulpits,  together  with 
other  truths  which  they  deemed  sacred,  that  this  inferior  race 
was  divinely  created  and  ordained  to  be  subject  and  subor- 
dinate to  their  white  fellow-creatures,  so  that  any  attempt  to 
change  their  relations  was  looked  upon  as  a  subversion  of  the 
divine  will. 

Third,  This  elevation  of  a  race  regarded  as  such  inferiors, 
marked  by  a  distinctive  color  which  of  itself  had  become  a 
badge  of  shame  and  infamy,  to  be  co-ordinate  in  power  with 
that  people  who  had  but  lately  dominated  the  nation,  and  had 
then  given  four  years  of  inconceivable  suffering  and  blood  and 
toil  for  the  right  to  keep  them  in  slavery,  which  they  deemed 
to  have  been  imperiled  by  their  confederates  in  the  govern- 
ment, was,  very  naturally,  most  exasperating  and  humiliating 
to  the  conquered  people.  They  deemed  it  a  blow  in  the  face, 
given  in  the  mere  wantonness  of  power,  and  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  revenge.  To  them  it  was  an  act  intended  and  designed  to 
humiliate  and  degrade  them,  simply  because,  in  the  conflict  of 
arms  to  which  they  had  appealed,  they  had  been  unsuccessful. 
They  thought  it  a  gratuitous  and  needless  affront  to  a  brave  and 
unfortunate  foe,  and  their  resentment  burned  hotly  against  an 
enemy  who  could  do  an  act  of  such  dastardly  malice. 


288  A    FOOUS   ERRAND. 

Yet,  after  it  wafi  imposed,  they  seemed  without  remedy. 
They  were  subject,  broken,  scattered.  An  appeal  to  arms  waa 
hopeless.  The  power  which  had  but  recentl}^  forced  them  to 
submission  was  still  more  potent  and  compact  than  when  the 
battle  was  joined  before.  Its  armies  in  considerable  force  wero 
scattered  over  the  subject  territory,  and  those  which  had  been 
disbanded  needed  but  one  blast  of  the  trumpet  to  fall  again 
into  line ;  while  those  of  the  subject  people  were  hopelessly 
shattered  and  disheartened,  their  armaments  gone,  and  the 
power  and  opportunity  to  organize  and  concentrate  impossible 
to  be  obtained. 

However,  such  was  the  indomitable  spirit  of  this  people,  that 
they  scorned  to  yield  or  submit  to  what  they  deemed  oppression. 
They  denounced  with  unparalleled  temerity  these  terms  of 
restoration  as  unjust  and  infamous,  and  openly  declared  that 
they  would  obey  and  regard  the  laws  and  acts  passed  and  done 
in  pursuance  thereof,  in  so  far  as  it  was  absolutely  impossible 
for  them  to  avoid  doing  otherwise  —  and  no  farther.  They 
gave  full  and  fair  notice  that  they  would  resist,  evade,  nullify, 
and  destroy  these  laws  and  the  work  done  under  them,  as  soon 
as  opportunity  should  occur  so  to  do,  in  any  manner  that  might 
offer.  It  was  a  defiance  openly  and  fairly  given ;  and  to  the 
redemption  of  this  challenge  was  plighted  the  honor  of  a  people 
even  more  scrupulous  of  their  collective  than  of  their  indi- 
vidual rights,  exasperated  by  defeat,  and  aroused  by  a  sense  of 
unparalleled  and  unpardonable  wrong  and  oppression. 

The  Fool  saw  them  resisting  bravely  every  step  leading  to 
the  adoption  of  this  plan,  protesting  with  indignation,  denoun- 
cing with  rage,  and  finally  submitting  almost  with  tears.  Xo 
conquered  foe  ever  passed  under  the  yoke  which  they  conceived 
to  mean  servitude  and  infamy  to  them,  with  more  unwilling 
step,  or  with  more  deeply  muttered  curses.  He  saw  men  and 
women  afflicted  with  the  keenest  sense  of  personal  liumiliation 
because  of  their  enforced  submission  to  the  power  of  a  people 
they  had  always  deemed  their  inferiors,  —  the  traditional  foe  of 
the  South,  the  "groveling  and  greedy  Yankee,"  —  and  then  still 
further  degraded  by  being  placed  on  a  level,  in  legal  and  po' 


''LIGHT  SIIINETH  IN  DARKNESS."         289 

litical  power  and  privilege,  ^Yith  a  race  despised  beyond  the 
power  of  language  to  express,  whom  they  had  always  accounted 
too  low  and  mean  even  for  contempt,  —  mere  ethnological 
ciphers,  who  had  no  power,  except  when  acting  in  conjunction 
with  some  significant  figure  in  the  notation  of  human  races. 

Moreover,  —  and  this  is  the  vital  point,  —  he  saw  them,  while 
thus  bowing  beneath  the  scourge  of  shame,  early  apprehending 
the  weak  point  in  their  enemy's  coat  of  mail,  and  steadily  ad- 
dressing themselves  to  planting  therein  a  fatal  stroke.  They 
could  not  fight,  and  thus  avenge  the  affront  that  had  been  put 
upon  them  ;  but  by  infinite  patience,  matchless  organization, 
unremitting  and  universal  zeal,  they  could  surely  foil  the  de- 
sign of  their  foe.  Nay,  more,  they  could  turn  against  that 
enemy  the  weapon  by  which  he  had  sought  to  secure  their 
degradation,  and  by  means  of  it,  perhaps,  accomplish  a  like 
degradation  of  their  oppressor.  It  was  a  daring  conception  for 
a  conquered  people.  Only  a  race  of  warlike  instincts  and 
regal -pride  could  have  conceived  or  executed  it. 

To  accomplish  this  end,  the  most  mishrinking  and  universal 
courage,  united  with  a  sleepless  caution,  was  required  on  the 
part  of  every  individual  member  of  this  class,  besides  the  most 
unswerving  confidence  in  each  and  every  one  of  his  fellows. 
Men,  women,  and  children  must  have  and  be  worthy  of  implicit 
mutual  trust.  Having  eyes,  they  must  see  not ;  and,  having 
ears,  they  must  hear  not.  They  must  be  trusted  with  the  secrets 
of  life  and  death  without  reserve  and  without  distrust.  The 
whole  South  must  be  fused  and  wielded  into  one  homogeneous 
mass,  having  one  common  thought,  one  imperial  purpose,  one 
relentless  will.  It  was  a  magnificent  conception,  and,  in  a 
sense,  deserved  success! 

It  differed  from  all  other  attempts  at  revolution  —  for  revo- 
lution it  was  in  effect  —  in  the  caution  and  skill  with  which 
it  required  to  be  conducted.  It  was  a  movement  made  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy,  and  an  enemy,  too,  of  overwhelming 
strength.  It  must  be  concealed  and  disguised  from  that  ene- 
my, or  its  success  would  not  only  be  imperiled,  but  absolutely 
and  irretrievably  destroyed.     If  the  North  had  seen  and  realized 


290  A    FOOrS  ERRAND. 

any  thing  of  the  true  nature  of  this  movement  at  the  outset 
the  power  of  the  nation  would  have  crushed  it  in  its  incipiency. 
To  overawe  and  suppress  the  Union,  Federal,  or  Reconstruc- 
tionary  element  of  the  South,  was  of  itself  an  undertaking  of 
no  difficulty  whatever  to  the  trained  leaders  of  that  section, 
with  an  exasperated  soldiery  and  an  unconquerable  people  at 
their  backs,  whose  confidence  in  their  wisdom  and  loyal  devo- 
tion to  their  rights  was  yet  unshaken,  and  to  whom  they  were 
all  the  dearer  by  reason  of  the  misfortunes  they  had  alreadj'- 
endured;  but  to  do  this  without  awakening  the  suspicions  and 
fears  of  the  North  until  the  result  was  an  accomplished  fact, 
was  a  task  requiring  infinite  skill,  patience,  and  courage  for  its 
accomplishment.  Should  it  succeed,  it  would  be  the  most  bril- 
liant revolution  ever  accomplished.  Should  it  fail  —  well,  those 
who  engaged  in  it  felt  that  they  had  nothing  more  to  lose. 
When  the  war  ended,  they  had  proudly  said,  "  All  is  lost  but 
honor ; "  but,  when  the  reconstruction  measures  came,  they  felt 
themselves  covered  with  shame,  degraded  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world;  not  by  their  own  acts,  —  of  them,  indeed,  they  were 
proud,  —  but  by  what  had  been  done  unto  them,  'i  hey  felt 
like  one  who  has  been  assaulted  by  a  scavenger. 

The  Fool  deemed  it  likely  that  actual  violence  was  not  at 
first  intended.  It  was  probably  believed  that  mere  intimi- 
dation, the  appeal  to  superstitious  fears  and  the  threat  of 
corporeal  punishment,  would  have  the  effect  thoroughly  to 
demoralize  and  disintegrate  the  colored  vote,  and  leave  the 
white  minority  powerless.  When,  from  the  unexpected  man- 
hood of  the  recent  slaves  and  the  long-suffering  '•  Unioners,"  it 
was  found  that  this  result  would  not  follow  a  mere  display  of 
force  and  the  assumption  of  ghostly  habiliments,  some  degree 
o£  violence  followed  as  an  almost  necessary  consequence.  The 
pi-ide  of  a  haughty  people,  the  resentment  of  one  that  deemed 
itself  bitterly  wronged,  and  the  ambition  of  those  greedy  for 
power,  were  all  staked  on  the  issue  of  the  struggle.  The  battle 
had  already  been  joined;  and  it  would  have  been  not  only  fatal, 
but  ignominious,  to  have  turned  back. 

After  this  review,  the  Fool  could  well  see  how  slight  a  thing 


''LIGHT  SHINETH  IN  DARKNESS."         291 

in  comparison  was  the  mere  question  of  the  political  rights  of 
those  whom  the  Southerners  considered  as  legally  without 
political  right,  and  morally  and  intellectually  incapable  of  exer- 
cising such  rights,  lie  could  see,  too,  that  the  maltreatment 
of  these  men  over  whom  they  had  been  accustomed  to  exercise 
the  right  of  castigation,  and,  indirectly  at  least,  of  life  and 
limb,  at  pleasure,  should  not  produce  in  their  minds  the  same 
feeling  of  repulsion  and  horror  that  it  would  evoke  from  the 
'•exaggerated"  humanitarianism  of  the  North,  as  well  as  that 
which  may  still  be  considered  genuine  and  wholesome.  He 
could  perceive,  too,  that  an  especial  resentment  very  naturally 
existed  in  the  minds  of  this  people  against  all  those  persons 
of  the  white  race  who  aided,  abetted,  encouraged,  organized, 
and  directed  the  colored  voters  in  the  assertion  of  pohtical  right 
and  the  exercise  of  political  power. 

The  means  which  had  been  instituted  and  pursued  for  the 
protection  of  slavery,  and  which  had  approved  themselves  as 
effective  for  that  purpose,  had  especially  cultivated  that  spirit 
which  countenances  the  forcible  suppression  of  unpopular  ideas, 
which  at  the  North  was  called  "intolerance,"  and  at  the  South 
"self-preservation."  So  that  he  could  well  understand  how  it 
should  be  considered  a  very  slight  and  venial  offense  to  beat, 
wound,  and  ill-treat  one  of  the  recently  servile  race,  and  by  no 
means  a  serious  thing,  from  a  moral  stand-point,  to  kill  them 
if  necessary  to  attain  their  purpose.  He  could  understand,  too, 
how  they  should  consider  it  only  a  "species  of  wild  justice" 
to  suppress  or  destroy  those  who  were  active  in  rendering  this 
newly  created  political  power  effective  as  against  its  former 
owners.  He  began  to  see  that  the  hostility  against  men  of 
Northern  birth  was  not  entirely  because  of  their  nativity,  but 
because  they  were  regarded  as,  in  a  sense,  public  enemies ;  and 
he  could  understand  why  the  hostility  and  antipathy  against 
himself,  and  others  of  prominence  and  activity  in  organizing 
reconstruction,  had  greatly  moderated,  and  acts  of  violence 
against  all  these  classes  almost  entirely  ceased,  as  soon  as  they 
became  innocuous,  or  incapable  of  organizing  a  successful  op- 
position to  the  will  of  a  majority  of  the  white  race,  in  whom 


292  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

alone  they  most  sincerely  believed  there  resided  the  inherent 
right  to  rule,  not  only  themselves,  but  also  that  lately  servile 
population  which  dwelt  among  them. 

He  believed  that  this  solution  answered  every  condition  of 
the  problem,  was  a  key  which  opened  every  mystery  attend- 
ing the  existence  of  the  Ku-Klux  Order,  both  during  the  reign 
of  terror  which  attended  its  establishment,  and  that  peace 
(which  otherwise  "  passeth  all  understanding ")  that  followed 
its  accession  to  unquestioned  supremacy.  The  Policy  of  Sup- 
pression, in  every  form,  he  believed  to  be  the  fruit  of  these 
complex  motives ;  and  its  completeness  and  success  commanded 
his  unbounded  admiration.  It  then  became  apparent  to  him 
that  the  pride,  resentment,  and  sense  of  ignominious  oppres- 
sion, in  the  hearts  of  the  Southern  people,  had  swallowed  up 
all  other  thought,  had  rendered  all  other  considerations  trivial 
and  unimportant  to  their  minds,  when  compared  with  the  one 
"  great  and  holy  aim "  of  redeeming  the  land  to  which  they 
"were  attached  with  such  unalterable  devotion,  from  the  oppres- 
sion of  foes  whom  they  regarded  with  hereditary  contempt  and 
hate.  All  else  was  lost  in  this  one  thought.  All  else  could 
be  forgiven  and  forgotten ;  all  other  sins  might  be  condoned, 
but  the  one  sin  against  this  all-pervading  purpose.  It  gave 
tone  and  color  to  the  whole  intellectual  and  moral  life  of  this 
people,  and  made  that  appear  venial  and  insignificant  which 
■would  otherwise  have  been  counted  horrible  and  atrocious. 

Lest  it  be  thought  that  the  Fool  judged  harshly  in  this 
matter,  an  illustrative  incident  is  given  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

PRO    BONO    PUBLICO. 


There  was  turmoil  in  the  county  of  Rockford.     The  repres- 
sive  policy  in   all   its  various   phases   had   been   successfully 


PRO  BONO  PUBLICO.  293 

made  effective  there.  Though  everybody  knew  that  the  county 
—  when  that  policy  was  not  applied,  and  every  voter  exercised 
the  privilege  of  casting  his  ballot  as  he  pleased  —  was  opposed 
to  the  party  of  repression  by  several  hundred  majority,  yet  it 
had  been  so  skillfully  manipulated  since  the  death  of  John 
Walters,  that  the  majority  upon  the  other  side  had  been  main- 
tained at  a  steady  and  reliable  figure,  which,  strangely  enough, 
had  been  just  about  as  large  as  the  majority  had  formerly  been 
against  it. 

Yet  Rockford  was  entirely  peaceful;  in  fact,  a  very  para- 
dise of  harmonious  unity.  There  were  1143  more  colored  men 
than  white  in  the  county,  according  to  the  census  report ;  and, 
during  the  first  years  in  which  these  colored  voters  exercised 
the  prerogatives  of  citizenship,  they  had  been  accustomed  — 
very  foolishly,  it  is  true,  but  perhaps  naturally,  and  at  all 
events  very  clamorously  —  to  demand  that  a  portion  of  the 
offices  should  be  filled  by  men  of  their  own  race.  After  the 
policy  of  repression  became  fully  established,  and  John  Wal- 
ters was  so  mysteriously  but  effectually  disposed  of,  the  hearts 
of  these  innocent  and  misguided  Africans  underwent  a  mar- 
velous change.  They  still  continued  to  vote,  as  appeared 
from  the  poll-books  and  returns  of  election,  with  the  most  per- 
sistent regularity ;  but  they  ceased  to  vote  for  those  to  whom 
they  had  once  been  so  warmly  attached,  and  ceased  to  demand 
and  elect  persons  of  their  own  color  or  formerly  universal  sen- 
timent for  places  of  trust  and  emolument.  It  was  a  very 
strange  coincidence ;  and  there  were  not  wanting  those  who 
pointed  to  it  as  undeniable  evidence  of  fraud,  or,  as  it  was  some- 
times termed,  "intimidation."  Some  of  the  Wise  Men  who 
dwelt  at  a  distance  tried  to  raise  a  clamor  over  it;  bat  they 
were  easily  put  to  rout  by  silver-tongued  orators  who  painted 
wonderful  pictures  of  the  millennial  life  and  Edenic  peace 
which  had  prevailed  in  Rockford  since  the  hour  when  the 
pestiferous  Walters  departed  from  its  coasts. 

It  is  strange  what  metamorphoses  the  unaccountable  African 
has  undergone.  In  the  good  old  times  before  the  war  for  the 
right  of  Southern  States  to  secede,  it  was  established  by  the 


294  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

concurrent  testimony  of  all  the  most  intelligent,  wealthy, 
refined,  honorable,  and  high-toned  among  the  Southern  peo- 
ple,—  those  who  owned  slaves,  and  worked  and  whipped, 
and  bought  and  sold,  and  married  and  unmarried,  as  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  race  and  the  taste  of  the  breeder  demanded,  — • 
it  was  established  beyond  question  by  these  (and  certainly  they 
must  have  known  more  about  the  negro  than  any  one  else, 
since  they  had  better  opportunity),  that  the  colored  man  was 
not  only  divinely  created  and  designed  for  a  state  of  bondage, 
but  that  he  had  a  keen  and  subtle  appreciation  of  his  own 
needs,  requisites,  and  capabilities,  and  recognized  with  tran- 
scendent delight  the  prevision  of  Providence  which  had  kindly 
left  him  not  unprovided  with  a  master.  In  short,  it  was 
established,  beyond  all  doubt  or  controversy,  that  the  African 
was  not  only  created  for  a  state  of  slavery,  but  so  conscious  of 
the  object  of  his  creation,  and  so  anxious  to  fulfill  the  purpose 
thereof,  that  he  was  both  contented  with  a  lot  of  servitude,  and 
actually  clamorous  for  its  delights,  and  unable  to  express  his 
sympathy  and  commiseration  for  the  few  individuals  of  his 
race  who  were  without  the  crowning  blessing  of  a  master.  It 
is  true,  that,  even  in  those  days,  there  were  a  few  insane  in- 
dividuals of  this  race  (poor  misguided  creatures!)  who  were 
always  running  away  from  the  peace,  plenty,  happiness,  and 
divine  beatitude  of  the  plantation,  and  making  towards  poverty 
and  want,  and  labor  and  disease,  and  frost  and  the  north  pole 
and  —  liberty  !  But  they  were  erring  creatures,  who  only 
served  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the  Eden  they  were  not  wise 
enough  nor  good  enough  to  enjoy. 

There  were  some,  too,  who  would  not  believe  the  testimony 
in  regard  to  the  unalloyed  happiness  of  the  slave,  but  persisted 
in  maintaining  that  the  sanest,  bravest,  wisest,  and  noblest  of 
the  African  lace,  were  those  who  ran  away  to  freedom.  But 
these  people  were  not  many,  and  they  were  also  insane,  —  and 
not  only  insane,  but  envious,  wicked,  and  bloody-minded. 
They  were  called  "  fanatics"  and  "  abolitionists." 

As  soon  as  the  war  came  on,  and  they  were  offered  their 
liberty,  the  nature  of  the  perverse  African  seemed  at  once  to 


PRO  BONO  PUBLICO.  295 

change.  Every  one  of  them  accepted  it,  and  that,  too,  with  a 
readiness  and  an  eagerness  which  went  very  far  to  induce  the 
belief  that  they  had  wanted  it  all  the  time.  Of  course,  we 
know  this  was  not  so,  by  the  testimony  of  those  who  knew 
more  about  them  than  anybody  else  could ;  but  it  did  seem  so 
when  they  swarmed  in  the  rear  of  the  Federal  armies,  and 
forsook  home,  friends,  relatives,  and  patriarchal  masters,  for 
privation,  danger,  and  liberty. 

And  ever  since,  they  have  been  manifesting  a  like  contrari- 
ness and  contradictoriness  of  character.  Up  to  the  very  time 
when  the  Ku-Klux  Klan  became  well  established  in  the  South, 
the  negro  manifested  a  most  inveterate  and  invincible  repug- 
nance and  disinclination  towards  allowing  his  former  masters 
to  define,  regulate,  and  control  his  liberties,  unless  such  person 
had  formally  renounced  the  ideas  of  slavery  and  rebellion,  had 
openly  and  unmistakably  declared  himself  in  favor  of  the 
equal  legal  and  political  rights  and  power  of  the  colored  race, 
and  had  shown  a  disposition  to  concede  them. 

As  soon  as  this  beneficent  institution,  the  Klan,  and  its  more 
subtle  and  complete  successors,  under  various  and  sundry 
names,  "  Rifle-Clubs,"  "  Sabre-Clubs,"  "  Bull-dozers,"  and  so 
forth,  had  fully  established  themselves  throughout  the  country, 
and  it  became  apparent  that  the  paternal  and  patriarchal  spirit 
of  the  nominally  defunct  system  of  Chattelism  was  still  alive, 
and  was  watching  with  assiduous  care  over  the  welfare  and 
happiness  of  its  former  childlike  subjects,  their  hearts  turned 
again  with  the  old-time  affection  to  the  former  masters,  \\\\o 
they  now  again  saw  were  not  only  their  best,  but  their  sole 
friends,  not  only  the  chief  and  best  guardians  of  their  liberty, 
but  absolutely  its  primal  authors.  So  they  despised  and 
eschewed  ''  nigger-politicians,"  and  Radicals,  and  turned  in 
scorn  and  contempt  away  from  those  whose  teachings  disagreed 
with  the  tenets  of  the  Ku-Klux  Klan,  the  Rifle-Clubs,  and  the 
Bull-dozers,  and  clung  again  to  their  first  loves,  —  their  natural 
and  divinely-ordained  friends  and  protectors ! 

At  least  that  is  what  these  natural  friends  and  protectors 
said;   and  we  must   allow   that  they  know   more   about   the 


296  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

negroes  than  anybody  else,  just  as  a  groom  knows  more  about 
tlie  horse  he  drives  and  controls  than  anybody  else,  and,  of 
course,  is  best  informed  as  to  the  horse's  opinion  of  him,  the 
said  groom. 

So  there  was  peace  in  Rockford.  But  in  an  evil  hour  the 
serpent  of  Ambition  entered  this  Eden,  and  left  his  trail  among 
its  flowers.  Two  of  the  party  of  peace,  reform,  and  conserva- 
tism, cast  a  yearning  eye  upon  the  same  ofiice.  The  authority 
of  a  convention  was  set  at  defiance ;  and  one  reckless  and 
ambitious  man  declared  that  he  would  appeal  to  Caesar,  and 
not  only  to  Caesar,  but  to  Tony  also,  and,  in  fact,  to  all  the 
children  of  Ham  in  said  county  resident,  to  decide  betwixt  him 
and  his  fellow.  In  the  party  of  peace  and  order  the  thing 
seemed  to  be  pretty  evenly  divided ;  and  the  recalcitrant 
bolter  and  his  friends  promised  to  the  unaccountable  Afri- 
cans, that  all  who  should  vote  for  him  should  be  protected  in 
so  doing,  and  that  the  regular  organization  of  that  party  should 
not  molest  them,  or  make  them  afraid.  And,  in  proof  of  that, 
they  showed  their  revolvers  and  Winchesters,  and  used  many 
"  cuss-words,"  and  imbibed  courage  by  the  quart. 

And  to  them  inclined  the  Africans. 

This  absurd  perversity  on  the  part  of  the  dusky  voters  greatly 
disturbed  the  party  of  law  and  order.  If  one  was  allowed  thus 
to  appeal  to  this  ebon  vote,  and  ride  into  power  thereby,  what 
^A•ould  become  of  the  party  of  peace  and  law  and  order  ?  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  —  something  which  would  destroy  this 
presumptuous  man's  hold  on  his  deluded  followers.  It  would 
not  do  to  apply  the  usual  tactics  of  the  party,  because  it  was 
doubtful  how  such  application  would  result.  So  it  was  deter- 
mined to  destroy  the  hopes  of  the  bolters,  and  detach  from  them 
their  new  supporters  by  means  of  their  tender  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  their  quondam  leader,  the  infamous  Walters.  It 
was  believed,  that,  if  they  could  be  convinced  that  this  man 
who  asked  their  support  was  one  of  the  band  who  had  dipped 
their  hands  in  his  blood,  the  silly  Africans  would  at  least 
refrain  from  voting  for  him,  out  of  a  foolish  veneration  for 
the  memory  of  the  dead  leader.     So  the  following  card  was 


PRO  BONO  PUBLICO.  297 

published,  and  scattered  broadcast  throughout  the  county,  as 
well  as  being  given  a  prominent  place  in  the  columns  of  The 
Moccason  Gap  Rattler :  — 

"WHO  IS  COLONEL  MAKCUS  THOMPSON? 
"  The  colored  voters  of  Rock  ford,  who  are  so  anxious  to  ele- 
vate this  notorious  desperado,  infidel,  and  renegade,  to  the  posi- 
tion of  sheriff  of  that  county,  are  probably  not  aware  of  all  the 
infamy  which  surrounds  his  character.  It  is  well  known  that 
he  was  for  several  years  the  chief  of  the  Ku-Klux  and  head  of 
the  Bull-dozers  of  that  county,  and  was  of  course  responsible, 
as  such,  for  the  acts  committed  by  them.  It  is  not,  however, 
so  generally  known  that  it  was  he  who  planned  and  executed 
the  murder  of  Joiin^  Walters,  being  himself  the  leader  of  the 
band  who  first  inveigled  him  to  the  place  of  his  death,  and 
afterwards  not  only  killed  him,  but  took  from  his  person  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  which  Colonel  Marcus  Thompson 
appropriated  to  his  own  use.  Yet  such  is  the  fact.  It  is  sus- 
ceptible of  abundant  proof  that  he  not  only  devised  the  kill- 
ing, but  was  the  very  first  one  who  imbrued  his  hands  in  the 
blood  of  AValters.  lie  expected  to  be  rewarded  for  this  act,  by 
his  then  political  associates,  with  the  office  to  which  he  now 
aspires.  Failing  in  this,  he  now  appeals  to  the  follow^ers  of 
Walters  for  support.  Whether  they  will  indorse  this  red- 
handed  murderer  and  robber  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless 
remains  to  be  seen." 

In  reply  to  this,  Thompson  published  the  following:  — 
"TO  THE  VOTERS  OF  ROCKFORD  COUNTY  i 

"  It  has  been  industriously  circulated  by  the  opposition,  for 
the  purpose  of  inducing  parties  to  withhold  their  support  from 
me,  that  I  took,  and  appropriated  to  my  own  use,  tico  thousand 

1  There  is  a  remarkable  similaritj'  between  these  circulars  and  the  open 
leuers  recently  publislied  by  the  chairman  of  the  executive  committee  of  Yazoo 
County,  xMississippi,  and  the  late  ill".  Diiou,  tbeu  an  indepeudeul  candidate  fo; 
Bheriff  of  that  county. 


298  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

dollars  found  on  the  person  of  John  "Walters  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  I  did  not  wish  to  refer  to  such  old  matters,  since  to  do 
so  must  necessarily  involve  many  of  our  best  citizens.  Those  were 
times  of  great  excitement,  and  no  doubt  many  things  were 
done  which  it  were  better  to  have  left  undone.  I  was  at  that 
time  the  Chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee  of  my  party  for 
this  county ;  and  I  hereby  pronounce  the  charge  that  I  used  or 
appropriated  a  solitary  cent  of  the  money  found  on  the  person 
of  Walters  for  my  personal  benefit  or  advantage,  to  be  an  infa- 
mous, unfounded,  and  malicious  lie.  On  the  contrary,  I  affirm  that 
every  cent  of  this  money  was  used  to  defray  the  current  expenses 
of  the  party  in  that  campaign,  to  stuff  ballot-boxes,  and  to  pur- 
chase certificates  of  election  for  persons  now  holding  oflBce  in 
the  county.  I  have  in  my  hands  the  documents  necessary  to 
prove  these  facts,  and  will  exhibit  them  whenever  called  upon 
so  to  do. 

"  Respectfully, 

"Marcus  Thompson." 

The  Fool  read  these  cards,  and  smiled,  even  in  the  sadness 
of  the  memory  they  evoked,  at  the  sw^eet  and  peaceable  fruits  of 
that  spirit  of  conciliation  which  had  swept  over  the  land  when 
punishment  impended  over  the  heads  of  these  knights  of  law 
and  order,  —  the  masked  Uhlans  who  had  ridden  at  midnight. 
As  before  stated,  under  the  impulse  of  a  divine  compassion,  it 
had  been  enacted  in  the  several  States,  that  all  crimes  per- 
petrated by  Ku-Klux,  Bull-dozers,  and  other  political  societies 
or  orders,  or  by  individuals  under  their  authority,  direction,  or 
instigation,  should  be  absolutely  and  entirely  amnestied  and 
forgiven.  By  reason  of  this  enactment,  it  had  become  a  matter 
of  little  or  no  moment  who  killed  John  Walters.  That  was  a 
charge  not  even  w^orthy  of  denial.  But  the  charge  that  Colonel 
Thompson  had  appropriated  the  money  taken  from  the  body 
of  the  murdered  man  was  an  imputation  under  which  no  hon- 
orable man  would  rest. 

It  would  seem,  in  some  states  of  society,  that  the  open  con- 
fession that  he  had  used  the  money  thus  obtained  for  the  pur-. 


''PEACE  IX  Tr.1725.Ur."  299 

pos9  of  bribing  and  corrupting  officers  of  election,  would  of 
itself  be  counted  scarcely  less  nefarious.  However  that  may- 
be, Mr.  Thompson  evidently  felt  called  upon,  in  vindication  of 
his  personal  character,  to  deny  the  one,  and  assert  the  other. 
As  to  the  mere  killing  of  the  Radical  John  Walters,  he  con- 
sidered it  unnecessary  for  him  to  make  any  admission  or  denial. 
That  was  an  act  of  no  more  consequence  than  the  infantile 
query,  "  Who  killed  Cock  Robin?  " 

The  Fool  pondered  this  matter  sadly  and  earnestly.  He 
thought  it  indicative  of  a  distorted  and  blunted  moral  sense ; 
yet  he  could  not  but  pity  the  suffering,  and^  admire  the  resolu- 
tion, which  had  wrought  such  insensibility  of  soul.  He  remem- 
bered the  story  of  the  Spartan  youth  v/ho  stood  smiling  and 
indifferent  while  the  stolen  fox  gnawed  at  his  vitals. 


CHAPTER  XL  I. 

"PEACE    IN   WARSAW." 

As  time  wore  on,  the  personal  relations  which  the  Fool  sus- 
tained to  his  neighbors  continued  to  improve.  It  seemed  as 
if  there  had  been  a  mutual  discovery  of  agreeable  attributes. 
jNIen  who  had  kept  aloof  from  him  during  all  the  years  of  his 
sojourn,  or  had  greeted  him  but  coolly,  and  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  him  to  others  with  any  thing  but  kindliness, 
came  gradually  to  manifest,  first  tolerance,  and  then  something 
of  kindly  partiality  for  him.  This  was  especially  true  of  the 
more  cultivated  and  active-minded  men  of  the  vicinage.  They 
seemed  to  recognize,  with  a  kind  of  surprise,  the  fact  that  the 
man  they  had  been  accustomed  to  denounce  so  bitterly  was  yet 
not  entirely  uncompauionable.  So,  among  these,  his  compan- 
ionship increased  in  a  way  that  reminded  him  of  the  forbear- 
ance sometimes  extended  to  a  not  altogether  unpleasiug  and 
quite  harmless  lunatic. 


300  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

This  state  of  things  not  unfrequentlj  caused  the  Fool  to 
smile,  though  he  had  now  become  wise  enough  to  prize  aright 
the  honest  effort  which  many  of  these  men  made  to  overcome 
an  hereditary  prejudice,  and  accord  to  him  that  personal 
recognition  Mhich  they  believed  him  to  have  merited.  lie  no 
longer  wondered  that  the  welcome  which  the  ever-ready  "West 
extends  to  the  ceaseless  tide  which  crowds  its  gates  was  not 
given  to  him  on  his  arrival ;  but  he  did  wonder  that  these  men 
could  so  overcome  the  force  of  a  prejudice  which  had  become 
instinctive,  an  exclusiveness  which  had  been  for  some  genera- 
tions almost  as  con^lete  as  that  of  the  Celestial  Kingdom,  and 
a  pride  which  had  been  so  deeply  wounded  by  the  ruthless 
outcome  of  recent  events,  as  even  to  recognize  his  personal 
right  and  merit  when  the  same  was  entirely  disassociated 
from  any  recognition  of  political  privilege.  He  did  not  de- 
ceive himself  in  regard  to  these  appearances.  He  knew  that 
they  did  not  portend  any  cessation  of  what  was  termed  politi- 
cal intolerance ;  that  there  was  no  relaxation  of  that  feeling 
which  would  not  allow  practical  opposition  to  its  mandates. 
He  knew  that  he  was  not  tolerated  because  his  political  convic- 
tions were  conscientiously  entertained,  nor  because  of  any 
feeling,  on  the  part  of  those  with  whom  he  was  surrounded, 
that  every  man  was  entitled  to  entertain  and  advocate  such 
political  views  as  he  might  prefer,  or  that  such  freedom  was 
an  essential  element  of  republican  government,  —  but  rather 
in  spite  of  his  conscientiousness,  and  because  his  views  could 
have  no  chance  of  practical  application  in  the  future.  The 
language  which  they  held  of  him  in  their  hearts,  he  correctly 
believed  to  be  "He's  a  terrible  Radical;  but  he  is  not  so  lev/ 
a  man,  after  all.  His  political  views  can  do  no  harm  now.  Xo 
doubt  he  is  honest  in  them :  it  is  natural  that  a  Northern  man 
should  hold  such  views.  But,  otherwise,  he  is  not  so  disagree- 
able."    So  his  daily  life  became  far  more  endurable. 

A  conviction  of  the  utter  powerlessness  of  those  elements 
with  which  the  Fool  had  politically  co-operated  no  doubt  had  a 
certain  effect  upon  his  mind  and  conduct.  His  views  had  not 
been  changed  by  the  great  counter-revolution  which  had  swept 


■^ PEACE  IN   WARSAW."  301 

on  around  him.  His  belief  in  the  equality  and  inherency  of 
human  right,  whether  it  be  termed  a  principle  or  a  prejudice, 
was  equally  strong  as  upon  that  day  when  it  first  flashed  upon 
his  mind  that  those  around  him  excepted  from  the  operation 
of  this  democratic  formula  all  individuals  of  the  African  race. 
He  could  not  bring  himself  to  see  that  race,  color,  or  previous 
condition  of  servitude,  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  doctrine 
of  inherent  right.  Neither  could  he  adopt  that  belief  with 
which  the  judicial  philosophers  of  our  American  bench  had 
reconciled  themselves  to  neutrality  in  the  more  recent  conflict 
for  liberty,  which  is  more  usually  formulated  in  the  expression, 
"Suffrage  is  not  a  right,  but  a  privilege."  So  he  could  not 
reconcile  himself  with  any  line  of  thought  or  policy  which 
depended  for  its  success  upon  silencing  and  negativing  —  either 
by  fraud,  misrepresentation,  or  violence  —  the  voice  of  the 
majority.  The  fact  that  a  man  had  been  born  a  slave  did  not, 
in  his  eyes,  affect  the  question  of  his  inherent  right;  because 
he  regarded  slavery  simply  as  an  unnatural  and  wrongful 
accident,  —  a  state  of  society  which  had  been  superimposed  on 
the  rightful  and  natural  one,  suspending  the  operation  of  the 
latter,  and  taking  from  certain  parties  the  rights  which  they 
had.  On  account  of  which,  when  such  false  and  anomalous 
relations  ceased,  all  parties  affected  by  it  were  relegated  to 
those  rights  they  would  have  been  entitled  to,  if  it  had  never 
existed;  and  these  rights,  he  thought,  must  relate  back  to,  and 
take  effect  from,  the  first,  precisely  as  if  this  unnatural  state 
of  servitude  had  not  intervened. 

It  is  by  no  means  improbable,  however,  that  he  found  fewer 
occasions  to  utter  such  opinions,  and  took  less  trouble  to  incul- 
cate such  views,  from  the  fact  that  it  might  cause  suffering  to 
those  who  should  accept  and  believe  the  doctrine.  For  him- 
self, he  could  not  see  that  a  man's  race  or  condition,  wealth  or 
poverty,  ignorance  or  intelligence,  should  affect  his  civic  [right : 
he  was  sure  they  should  not,  if  the  theory  of  republican  and 
democratic  governments  be  true,  —  that  the  majority  should 
rule.  He  felt  that  ignorance,  poverty,  and  an  ebon  skin, 
were  each  of  them  terrible  afflictious,  and  acknowledged  that 


302  A   FOOVS  ERRAND. 

they  might  all  of  them  be  classed  as  public  evils  in  our  Ameri- 
can democracy;  but  he  could  not  admit  that  either  or  all  of 
them  constituted  true  or  just  limitations  of  political  power  or 
inherent  right.  He  despised  that  lack  of  manhood  which 
seeks  to  avoid  responsibility  hj  silence,  or  which  submits  to 
wrong  to  avoid  the  trouble  of  resistance. 

Yet  he  admitted  to  himself  that  if  he  were  one  of  the 
unfortunate  and  despised  race,  if  he  shared  its  poverty,  inex- 
perience, and  helplessness,  in  short,  if  he  were  even  as  one 
of  his  colored  fellow-citizens  in  these  respects,  he  would  not 
think  of  such  a  thing  as  exercising  or  asserting  his  political 
rights,  but,  on  the  contrary,  would  submit,  with  such  patience 
as  he  could  command,  to  whatever  might  impend,  hoping  and 
waiting  for  one  of  two  things  to  occur;  viz.,  either  an  improve- 
ment in  the  temper  and  inclination  of  the  ruling  class,  or  an 
opportunity  to  get  away  to  some  region  beyond  their  power. 
He  really  thought  it  an  amazing  piece  of  heroism  that  the 
colored  man  should  so  long  have  taken,  not  merely  his  own 
life,  but  the  lives  of  his  little  ones,  in  his  hand,  and  have  gone 
to  the  ballot-box  to  deposit  his  ballot  against  such  fearful  odds 
of  power.  He  thought  that  those  who  had  died  of  one  form 
of  intolerance  and  another,  since  the  time  when  a  great  nation 
falsely  guaranteed  to  them  safety,  liberty,  and  the  rights  of 
citizenship ;  the  thousands  who  fell  victims  to  the  violence 
of  Ku-Klux  and  Rifle  Clubs,  the  natural  sad  barbarity  which 
inaugurated  and  sustained  the  Repressive  policy,  —  these  thou- 
sands he  deemed  to  have  constituted  an  army  of  martyrs  for 
those  very  principles  which  he  still  believed,  and  of  which 
he  was  once  so  proud. 

Yet  he  did  not  feel  that  it  would  be  right  for  him  to  induce 
or  encourage  other  thousands  to  tempt  the  same  fate,  or  to  seek 
to  exercise  the  same  rights.  He  could  not  encourage  them  to 
do  what  he  Avould  not  do  under  like  circumstances.  So  he  did 
not  feel  like  urging  them  to  make  any  further  stand  for  what 
were  termed  their  rights,  nor  to  seek  to  gain  any  thing  by  the 
exercise  or  assertion  of  them. 

Wliile,  therefore,  he  was  not  silenced  by  personal  fear  or  vio 


PEACE  IN   WARSAW.'' 


303-^ 


lence,  \\hile  he  even  boasted  with  no  little  stubborn  pride  that 
he  could  declare  his  opinions  there  as  freely  as  on  the  hills  of 
New  Enoland  or  in  his  native  Western  home,  he  could  not  but 
smile  at'' the  fallacy  which  lay  hid  in  his  own  words.     The 
Repressive  policy  had  as  effectually  eradicated  his  desire  for 
self-assertion  as  if  it  had  consummated  the  design  which  was 
instituted  at  Bentley's  Cross.     He  might  not  be  in  any  danger 
from  declaring  his  opinions;  but  he  well  knew  that  those  who 
listened  to  him  would  invite  danger  and  suffering,  should  they 
resolutely  seek  to  carry  his  views  into  effect.     He  was,  m  a 
sense,  at  liberty  to  act  as  he  chose;  but  the  consequences  of  his 
action  to  others  were  so  terrific  that  he  must  have  been  either 
more  or  less   than   man  to   have   invited   them.     So.  without 
abandoning  his  principles,  as  he  called  them,  —for  he  had  come 
almost  to  believe  that  what  are  termed  "  principles  "  are  only 
ingrained  habits  of  thought,  and  hereditary  systems  of  belief, 
—lie  submitted  quietly  to  having  them  rendered  inoperative 
and  nugatory  by  the  suppression  of  the  will  of  the  majority,  or, 
rather,  by  excluding  from  the  estimate  those  who  were  opposed 
to  the  white  majority.     By  this  course  he  found  himself  enjo}'- 
ing  a  personal  peace  and  toleration  which  was  very  grateful, 
after  what  had  gone  before.     Where  he  had  been  hated  with- 
out stint,  and  maligned  without  scruple,  he  was  now  tolerated 
with  an  "if,"  or  commended  with  a  "  but." 

The  Fool  felt  that  he  was  learning  wisdom  in  thus  submit- 
ting himself  to  the  inevitable,  and  gradually  came  to  regard 
himself  and  his  neighbors  with  far  more  of  reasonable  com- 
placency than  he  had  hitherto  done.  He  saw  that  he  had  ex- 
pected too  much,  that  he  had  been  simple  enough  to  believe 
that  the  leopard  might  change  his  spots,  while  yet  the  Ethiopian 
retained  his  dusky  skin.  He  was  even  grateful  for  the  tolera- 
tion which  was  extended  to  him,  and  looked  with  a  sort  of  won- 
der on  the  men  who  so  far  forgot,  or  put  aside,  the  past,  as  to  do 
this.  He  even  advanced  to  the  point  where  he  looked  back 
with  no  inconsiderable  surprise  at  the  state  of  mind  which  had 
once  possessed  him.  He  was  inclined  to  ridicule  many  of  the 
exalted  notions  of  manhood  and  independence  which  he  had 


304  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

once  entertained,  and  to  wonder  that  he  could  ever  have  been  so 
idiotically  stupid  as  to  have  expected  aught  except  what  had 
in  fact  occurred.  So  there  arose  a  spirit  of  mutual  forbear- 
ance ;  they  forbore  to  take  offense  at  his  views,  and  he  forbore 
to  express  them ;  they  excused  his  views  because  of  his 
Northern  birth  and  education,  and  he  excused  their  acts  because 
of  their  Southern  nativity  and  training ;  they  disregarded  liis 
political  convictions  because  a  method  had  been  discovered  to 
prevent  their  crystallizing  into  results,  and  he  refrained  from 
urging  them  because  to  do  so  was  a  useless  travail. 

In  fact,  by  this  change  of  heart,  the  Fool  gradually  ceased  to 
interest  himself  in  those  things  which  had  formerly  been  of 
such  engrossing  moment  to  him.  Realizing  his  own  folly,  and 
the  foolishness  of  that  struggle  with  the  spirit  and  civilization 
of  a  great  people  which  had  been  so  rashly  inaugurated,  he 
sought  only  to  enjoy  what  was  pleasant  in  his  surroundings, 
and  to  put  behind  him  the  conflicts  of  the  past.  He  had 
learned  that  the  spirit,  the  mode  of  thought,  the  life  of  the 
North,  can  not  be  imposed  upon  the  South  in  an  instant ;  that 
if  the  two  divergent  civilizations  are  ever  to  meet,  and  harmo- 
nize with  each  other,  it  must  be  when  time  and  circumstance 
are  more  propitious  than  the  present,  or  when  some  great  con- 
vulsion has  so  swerved  the  currents,  that  they  meet  in  one  over- 
whelming flood. 

So  there  was  peace  at  Warrington.  Without  forgetting  old 
friends,  the  Fool  made  new  ones,  blessed  the  sunshine  and  the 
shade,  thought  less  of  the  welfare  of  his  fellows  and  more 
of  his  own  comfort,  and  rejoiced  that  the  struggle  which  the 
Wise  Men  had  cast  upon  his  fellow-workers  and  himself  was 
at  an  end.  He  had  fought  stubbornly  and  well.  All  admitted 
that.  Until  he  felt  that  he  was  betrayed,  renounced,  dis- 
credited, and  condeinned  by  the  very  element  which  had  thrust 
this  burden  on  him,  he  had  never  thought  of  surrender. 
Having  given  in  his  adhesion  to  the  plan  of  reconstruction,  even 
though  it  were  under  protest,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  honor?/* 
bly  abandon  the  contest  until  discharged  by  the  act  or  pei "' 
mission  of  those  allies  in  the  contest.     This  had  been  done,  an/" 


''PEACE   IX   WARSAW."  305 

he  was  relieved  from  further  duty.  "When  the  power  of  the 
Nation  was  withdrawn,  the  struggle  was  at  an  end.  Failure 
was  written  above  the  grave  of  the  pet  idea  of  the  Wise  Men. 
It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  if  not  of  satisfaction,  that  the 
Fool  recognized  this  result.  He  was  like  the  battered  soldier, 
who,  though  not  victorious,  sits  in  his  old  age,  crowned  with 
the  glory  of  many  wounds,  peaceful  and  contented  despite  the 
midesired  outcome  of  his  warfare. 

He  still  believed  in  the  cause  for  which  he  had  struggled, 
and  believed  in  the  capacity  of  those  with  whom  he  had 
worked  to  achieve  for  themselves,  at  some  time  in  the  future,  a 
substantial  freedom  ;  but  in  that  struggle  he  could  do  but  little. 
He  believed  that  it  would  be  long  and  tedious;  that  the  waver- 
ing balance  would  hang  in  doubt  for  generations;  and  that,  in 
the  mean  time,  that  haughty,  self-reliant,  and  instinctively  domi- 
nant element  which  had  already  challenged  the  Nation  to  a 
struggle  of  strength,  had  been  defeated,  and  out  of  dimiiier  had 
already  icresied  the  suh>itanlial  fruits  of  victory,  would  achieve 
still  greater  triumphs,  and  would  for  an  indefinite  period  domi- 
nate and  control  the  national  power.  He  saw  this  without 
envy ;  for  it  was  apparent  to  him  that  a  people  who  could  per- 
form such  wonders  of  political  legerdemain  without  awakening 
the  fears,  or  hardly-  the  distrust,  of  those  whose  power  they 
had  felt,  but  whose  prestige  they  had  overthrown — whose 
glory  they  had  already  trailed  in  the  dust  until  it  was  ac- 
counted far  more  honorable  to  have  struck  at  the  Nation's  life 
than  to  have  interposed  a  lite  to  avert  the  blow — had,  in  a 
peculiar  degree,  those  characteristics  which  are  necessary  to 
secure  and  hold  dominion. 

While  it  was  not  without  chagrin  that  he  noted  these  facts, 
and  while  his  cheek  flushed  with  something  like  shame  as  he 
remembered  the  halting,  shuffling  indecision  of  his  own  people, 
and  how  they  had  pandered  to  a  sickly  sentimentalism,  re- 
linquishing therefor  the  substance  of  powder,  betraying  and 
abandoning  their  allies,  and  heaping  upon  them  the  contempt 
and  shame  of  the  failure  which  resulted  thereby,  he  could  but 
admit,  with  something  of  pride  in  the  conviction,  that  those 


306  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

who  had  thus  thwarted  and  overthrown  their  conquerors  were 
born  rulers  of  men,  whose  empire  was  not  likely  to  fail  from 
any  lack  of  vigor.  He  looked  forward  to  see  them  regaining 
the  i^roud  supremacy  of  ante  helium  days, — not  indeed  with 
satisfaction;  for  what  he  had  so  long  called  his  "principles" 
stood  stubbornly  in  the  way,  and  he  was  sure  that  they  would 
fall  some  time,  —  but  at  least  with  admiring  pride  in  the  capa- 
bilities of  that  branch  of  the  American  stock. 

So  the  days  flew  on,  and  the  sun  shone,  and  Warringtoi? 
grew  brighter,  and  Lily  grew  fairer  and  riper,  and  Metta  looked 
more  matronly  and  grave,  and  the  Fool  sat  in  the  sunshine. 
The  tie  between  Lily  and  her  father,  unusually  strong  before, 
had  been  redoubled  in  strength  and  intensity  by  her  heroic 
act.  Before,  she  had  been  his  companion  and  his  pupil ;  since 
then,  she  had  been  his  companion  even  more  frequently, 
but  the  idea  of  pupilage  seemed  to  have  been  absorbed  in 
the  self-abnegation  of  parental  hope  and  pride.  To  her  im- 
provement he  now  devotcti  the  ripest  powers  of  the  life  she 
had  saved.  Comprehending  fully  the  defects  of  her  some- 
what desultory  education,  when  he  came  to  examine  the 
results  he  was  surprised  at  what  had  been  accomplished. 
The  basis  which  Metta  had  laid  with  untiring  devotion  had 
been  strongly  built  upon  by  that  confiding  freedom  which  had 
been  exercised  toward  her  by  both  her  parents,  and  especially 
by  her  father's  custom  of  conversing  with  her  upon  all  those 
subjects  which  had  especially  engaged  his  attention.  The 
desire  to  converse  with  him  Intelligently  upon  these  themes 
had  induced  her,  partly  by  means  of  questions  directed  to  such 
subjects,  and  partly  by  consulting  the  books  and  periodicals 
which  he  read,  to  familiarize  herself  with  them,  until  there  were 
few  subjects  of  current  thought  upon  which  she  was  not  able 
to  converse,  not  onl}'  intelligibly,  but  readily,  and  with  a  clear^ 
ness  and  originality  which  had  surprised  the  few  strangers  with 
whom  she  had  opportunity  to  exchange  thought.  Seeing  this 
foundation  laid,  Servosse  decided  to  continue  her  education  in 
pretty  much  the  same  manner,  directing  it  now  towards  specific 
objects,  and   making  what   are  termed   accomplishments   the 


''PEACE   IN    WARSAW.''  307 

fringe  of  her  education,  rather  than  its  web,  it  beiri.^  liis  im- 
pression that  about  tlie  same  rehition  should  bo  niaintained 
between  tliein  as  should  t^xist  in  real  life.  Being  of  the  opin- 
ion that  true  education  consisted  more  in  a  power  to  master  a 
subject,  to  perceive,  discover,  and  marshal  facts  in  relation 
thereto,  than  in  the  mere  acquisition  of  those  facts,  he  did  not 
confine  her  to  dry  details,  nor  occupy  her  mind  with  the  probing 
of  specific  systems.  For  her  sake,  he  turned  again  to  those 
fields  of  thought  which  had  been  the  delight  of  his  youth  and 
early  manhood,  and  with  a  gentle  hand  led  her  feet  through  the 
fair  fields  of  literature,  —  the  history  of  the  world's  thought. 
Side  by  side  with  this,  he  unfolded  before  her  that  other  book 
which  we  call  history,  —  the  story  of  the  world's  outward  hap- 
penings, the  deeds  of  her  heroes,  the  wrongs  of  her  martyrs,  and 
the  sins  of  her  great  criminals,  together  with  the  little  which 
Me  know  of  the  sufferings,  burdens,  and  misfortunes  of  her 
great  masses.  She  had  never  known  any  other  school  than 
her  home,  and  no  masters  but  her  devoted  parents.  For  her 
sake  they  had  banished  from  the  home-circle  the  language  of 
their  childhood,  and  had  confined  themselves  to  dialects  which 
had  grown  unfamiliar  to  their  tongues  from  long  disuse.  She 
had  learned  three  things  which  Servosse  accounted  all  import- 
ant ;  Jirst,  that  education  was  a  life-work,  and  not  a  matter  to  be 
crowded  into  a  few  early  years  ;  second,  that  the  learner  must  in 
most  matters  be  also  the  teacher,  or,  in  other  words,  that  the 
province  of  the  teacher  is  rather  to  test  the  attainments  of 
the  learner  than  to  direct  his  acquirements ;  and,  third,  that  to 
know  is  to  observe,  to  understand,  and  to  delineate. 

As  a  relief  from  the  absorbing  thought  which  he  had  given 
to  public  matters,  this  duty  was  most  delightful  to  Servosse, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  fruition  of  their  early  hope  had  been 
vouchsafed  to  himself  and  his  wife,  when  he  begun  to  realize 
that  the  relations  and  feelings  of  this  i-)eriod  must  necessarily 
soon  take  from  him  this  crowning  pleasure  of  his  life.  Metta, 
ever  anxious  for  the  interests  of  her  daughter,  began  to  urge 
the  necessity  of  travel,  and  desired  that  the  well-prepared  mind 
should  be  finished  and  rounded  by  the  experiences  of  varied 


308  A    poors   ERRAND. 

life.  This  question  had  already  been  one  of  anxious  considera- 
tion, when  one  day  Servosse  was  amazed  at  an  occurrence  which 
his  wiser-hearted  wife  had  foreseen. 

For  over  them  both  watched  the  tender  and  careful  Metta, 
proud  and  happy  in  her  fair  daughter's  present,  and  hopeful  of 
her  future,  but,  with  strange  inconsistency,  exulting  more  in 
what  her  husband  had  been  during  his  acces  de  la  folle  than  in 
what  he  now  was  when  following  the  paths  of  wisdom.  But 
such  is  ever  the  contradictoriness  of  woman's  nature. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

A    FRIENDLY    MEDIATION. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  John  Burleson  had  not  failed 
to  acquaint  Colonel  Servosse  with  the  device  which  Melville 
Gurney  had  adopted  to  favor  the  escape  of  Lily,  after  he  had 
recognized  lier  on  the  night  of  her  perilous  ride.  Servosse 
had  such  confidence  in  the  qualities  of  his  favorite  horse  that 
he  was  not  at  first  inclined  to  attribute  so  much  importance 
to  the  act. 

"After  Young  Lollard  had  once  passed  him,  there  was  little 
chance  of  ]\Ir.  Gurney's  stopping  her,  even  had  he  desired. 
There  is  not  a  horse  in  the  State  that  can  cover  four  miles  in 
the  time  that  colt  makes  light  of,"  he  said  to  Burleson. 

"  That  may  be,"  responded  that  worthy,  in  his  usual  brusque 
and  defiant  manner,  "  though  the  mare  Mel.  Gurney  rode  that 
night  was  no  slouch,  either.  But  suppose  he  had  used  his 
pistol,  which  he  handles  with  one  hand  as  well  as  with  the 
other.  I  don't  believe  Mel.  Gurney  could  be  induced,  under  any 
circumstances,  to  shoot  at  a  lady ;  and  no  one  could  ever  mistake 
Miss  Lily  for  any  thing  else,  in  anj'  sort  of  light.  Her  very 
seat  on  horseback  shows  that.  But  suppose  he  had,  —  suppose 
he  had  not  been  the  gallant,  chivalric  Mel.  Gurney  that  he  is : 
what  then  V  " 


A    FRIENDLY  MEDIATION.  309 

"  A  man  with  a  shot  through  his  left  arm,  and  a  hip^h- 
blooded  horse  to  manage,  is  not  very  dangerous  with  a  revolver, 
to  one  who  has  Young  Lollard  under  him,  and  an  open  road 
before  him,"  replied  the  Fool,  with  an  amused  smile.  "  Really, 
Mr.  Burleson,  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  the  favor  was  on  the 
other  side.  In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Gurney  should  be  grateful 
that  her  shot  struck  his  arm.  Of  course  that  was  accident; 
but  I  would  not  like  to  trust  to  such  accidents,  with  Lily 
pointing  a  revolver  at  me  less  than  ten  steps  away.  She  has  a 
wonderfully  steady  hand.  Besides  that,  I  am  not  sure  that 
;Mr.  Gurney  should  not  count  among  the  mercies  of  that  night 
the  fact  that  his  mare  could  not  overtake  Young  Lollard.  I 
am  not  at  all  sure  that  Lily,  wrought  up  as  she  was  to  despera- 
tion, would  not  have  proved  the  more  dangerous  adversary." 

"  I  see  you  are  bound  not  to  give  my  friend  Gurney  credit 
for  any  thing  except  a  cunningly-invented  tale  to  cover  his 
own  discomfiture,"  said  Burleson. 

"I  confess,"  replied  Servosse  coolly,  "that  I  can  see  little 
further  merit  in  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  young  man  did 
about  all  he  could  to  prevent  her  escape,  and,  when  this  provea 
unavailing,  invented  the  story  about  the  rabbit,  and  the  acci- 
dental shooting,  to  avoid  ridicule  for  allowing  a  woman  to  pass 
his  guard.  I  suppose  he  would  rather  have  died  than  confess 
that  fact.  I  believe  I  would  have  preferred  almost  any  thing 
short  of  that,  in  his  place.  Of  course,  I  moan  no  offense  to 
you  in  speaking  thus  of  your  friend.  At  first  I  was  so 
astounded  at  the  fact  that  one  whom  I  had  accounted  such  a 
fine,  manly  fellow,  who  had  been  at  my  house,  and  for  whose 
father  I  had  such  a  sincere  regard,  should  have  been  with  that 
crowd,  and  upon  that  errand,  that  I  could  not  think  coolly  in 
regard  to  it.  Indeed,  I  was  so  grateful  for  my  daughter's 
escape  from  deadly  peril,  to  say  nothing  of  our  rescue  from 
the  horrible  fate,  I  tiiink  I  could  have  hugged  with  gratitude 
any  of  that  crowd  of  cut-throats,  simply  because  of  their  fail- 
ure to  do  what  they  intended." 

"Including  among  them  your  humble  servant,  1  suppose," 
tjaid  Burleson  good-naturedly. 


310  A   FOOUS   ERRAND. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Servosse.  "I  had  then  no  reason  to 
except  you  from  my  general  estimate.  Indeed,  from  what  I 
had  previously  known  and  heard  of  you,  I  was  not  at  all  sur- 
prised at  finding  you  in  such  company." 

"  You  are  like  me  in  one  thing,  at  least,"  said  Burleson, 
flushing  as  he  spoke.  "Your  speech  is  not  hurt  by  a  lack  of 
frankness." 

"  There  is  more  than  one  point  of  resemblance  between  us, 
'Mw  Burleson,"  said  the  Fool  thoughtfully,  and  taking  no  note 
of  his  embarrassment.  "I  have  thought  of  it  several  times 
since  that  night.  Considering  all  the  circumstances  of  your 
connection  with  the  Klan  and  the  raid  (and  the  s.ame  is  true 
of  young  Gurney),  it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  have  done  the 
same  in  your  place ;  except,  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have  had 
the  courage  to  renounce  my  error,  and  especially  not  to  protest 
so  manfully  as  you  did  at  Bentley's  Cross,  which  Lily  told  me 
about." 

"  Don't,  if  you  please,  Colonel ! "  said  Burleson,  as  the 
blushes  chased  each  other  over  his  manly  face.  "  I  am  thor- 
oughly ashamed  of  having  been  betrayed  by  any  sort  of  foolish 
fear  of  ridicule  into  any  connection  with  the  thing  whatever. 
Do  you  know,  I  never  once  thought  about  the  right  or  wrong 
of  the  matter,  the  view"  which  instinctively  presents  itself  to 
your  mind.  I  only  thought  of  the  impolicy  and  danger  of  it  — 
I  mean  danger  to  our  people,  to  the  South.  I  did  not  think 
particularly  of  myself;  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  take 
what  came,  with  the  rest.  I  wanted  to  see  our  party  succeed, 
and  gave  no  consideration  to  the  rights  of  yours.  Indeed,  I 
never  regarded  you  as  having  any  rights,  —  any  legal  or  moral 
right  to  political  power,  I  mean.  I  considered  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  negro  as  an  act  of  legal  usui-pation  and  moral 
turpitude,  and  considered  all  you  carpet-baggers  and  scalawags 
as  parties  to  the  offense.  I  thought  this  outrage  was  enough 
to  excuse  any  sort  of  irregular  warfare  short  of  the  actual 
taking  of  life,  which,  in  fact,  was  not  at  first  dreamed  of.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  about  half 
the  niggers  in  the  country  were  taken  out  and  whipped  about 


A    FRIENDLY  MEDIATION.  311 

once  a  fortnight;  and  I  am  not  sure  but  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  now. 

"  The  killing  of  old  Jerry  first  woke  me  up.  I  was  away  at 
the  time,  and  never  knew  a  word  of  it.  If  I  had  been  here,  it 
should  not  have  been  done,  except  over  my  dead  body.  I 
knew  him  from  my  boyhood;  and  if  there  ever  was  an  honest. 
Christian  nigger  on  earth,  his  name  was  Jerry  Hunt.  Gad ! 
sir,  it  made  my  hair  stand  on  end,  when  I  heard  of  it  !  and,  to 
save  my  soul,  Colonel,  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  over  the  idea 
that  I  have  his  blood  on  my  hands,  yet.  Damned  if  I  don't 
feel  just  so! 

"They  were  hot  for  you  after  that.  Colonel.  Men  are  just 
like  dogs,  anyhow.  Just  let  them  get  a  taste  of  blood,  and  they 
are  as  savage  as  wolves.  As  soon  as  Jerry  was  killed,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  Klan  was  wild  for  blood.  Only  a  few  opposed 
it, — just  enough,  and  of  the  right  sort.  As  it  happened,  too, 
most  of  these  were  young  hot-heads,  like  Mel.  Gurney  and 
myself.  The  old  men  generally  take  the  credit  for  all  the 
conservatism  in  the  world ;  but  it's  a  mighty  bad  mistake.  The 
old  man's  conservatism  means  only  to  keep  out  of  danger,  — 
keep  his  own  skirts  clear;  but  a  young  man  backs  just  as  hard 
as  he  pulls.  If  he  opposes  a  thing  in  such  a  body,  he  fights 
it  —  tooth  and  toe-nail.  If  he  is  beaten,  just  as  likely  as  not 
he  goes  with  the  crowd,  shares  the  danger,  and  takes  the  blame. 
But  when  a  man  passes  a  certain  age,  he  becomes  smart  of  a 
sneak.  These  old  fellows  who  were  opposed  to  such  things 
simply  said  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  and  kept 
aloof.  That  was  the  way  with  Melville  Gurney's  father,  the 
General.  He  joined  it  before  it  got  to  doing  more  than  just  go 
about  and  scare  the  niggers,  which  he  had  no  objection  to  being 
done,  especially  as  he  was  a  candidate  for  something  about  that 
time.  AVhen  these  worse  things  begun,  he  quietly  let  it  alone; 
so  much  so,  that  his  son  never  knew  of  his  having  been  a  mem- 
ber until  that  day  at  Glenville.  I  reckon  if  it  had  come  to  that, 
he  would  have  stood  up  for  t/ou.  I've  heard  him  speak  very 
highly  of  you.  But  he  never  had  a  chance.  I  suppose  really 
I  stood  between  you  and  danger  some  three  or  four  times  when 
you  knew  nothing  of  it." 


312  A    FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"  And  no  doubt  saved  me  at  Bentley's  Cross,  by  your  alter- 
cation with  Jake  Carver,  which  enabled  my  daughter  to  slip 
away  unperceived,"  said  Servosse  warmly. 

"Well,  perhaps  that  is  so,"  said  Burleson  with  surprise.  "I 
had  ne%'er  thought  of  that;  but  I  am  not  entitled  to  any  credit 
for  it,  since  it  was  unintentional.  Melville  Gurney's  chivalry 
and  presence  of  mind  is  what  saved  you  —  next,  of  course,  to 
Miss  Lily's  heroism." 

'•  I  can  not  see,"  said  Servosse  impatiently,  "  why  you  will 
give  so  much  credit  to  Gurney.  Your  friendly  partiality  blinds 
you  to  the  probable  motive  which  animated  him." 

"No,"  replied  Burleson,  "it  is  you  that  are  blind,  —  blinder 
than  a  bat,  as  you  will  find  out  some  day." 

"I  have  no  disposition  to  do  the  young  man  any  injustice," 
said  Servosse. 

"  Oh  !  I  do  not  suppose  so,  — not  at  all,"  said  Burleson;  "but 
you  don't  know  Melville  Gurney  as  I  do.  He  is  as  true  as 
steel,  and  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  both  literally  and  figura- 
tively. I  only  wonder  that  he  came  to  be  in  the  thing  at  all. 
I  Icnow  the  motive  that  influenced  his  action  that  night,  from 
his  own  mouth;  and  Melville  Gurney  M'ould  not  lie  for  a  king- 
dom. See  here.  Colonel!"  he  added  impetuously,  "I  am  sur- 
prised that  you  can  not  see  this  thing  in  its  true  light.  Sup- 
pose ^Melville  Gurney  had  not  wished  your  daughter's  safety 
and  success  in  her  errand :  what  would  he  have  done  ?  Given 
notice  to  the  camp  of  what  had  occurred  on  his  post,  wouldn't 
he  V  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Servosse. 

"  And  what  would  have  been  the  result  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  ?     Do  you  know  Jake  Carver?  " 

"Yes." 

"  A  bold  and  resolute  man,  relentless  in  his  purpose,  and  ruth- 
less in  his  antipathies." 

"I  have  heard  so." 

"  And  that  man  was  in  command  of  a  hundred  well-mounted 
and  reckless  men." 

"  Well  y " 


A   FRIEXDLY  MEDIATION. 


313 


"Well?  My  God,  man!  how  long  would  it  have  taken  him 
to  decide  to  follow  your  daughter's  track,  and  seize  you  and 
Judge  Denton  in  the  toivn,  instead  of  at  the  bridge  V" 

"  Heavens  !  "  cried  Servosse,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  I  had 
never  thought  of  that." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Burleson  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 
"  But  if  Melville  Gurney  had  not  put  him  oft"  the  scent  you 
M'ould  have  thought  of  it!  In  less  than  fifteen  minutes,— 
before  you  got  Miss  Lily  back  to  the  hotel,  — you  would  have 
had  Jake  Carver  and  the  rest  on  you,  and  you  would  have  been 
roasted  to  a  turn  on  Denton's  Bridge.     :Miss  Lily,  too  "  — 

"My  God!"  said  Servosse,  "you  are  right!  I  had  never 
thought  of  it  in  that  way.  I  have  done  the  young  man  injus- 
tice.    I  will  write  to  him.  and  render  our  thanks." 

John  Burleson  was  in  high  glee,  thinking  he  had  served  his 
friend  not  only  effectually  but  skillfully;  for  Servosse  had  no 
idea  of  the  real  motive  which  animated  Melville  Gurney  in 
inventing  the  fiction  which  he  had  used  to  account  for  his 
wounded  arm. 

At  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Lily,  all  knowledge  of  the 
shooting  had  been  confined  to  Judge  Denton  and  her  mother, 
so  that  Melville's  excuse  was  still  regarded  by  all  others  as  the 
true  explanation  of  his  misfortune.  It  was  well  known  that 
she  had  ridden  to  Glenville  to  warn  her  father  of  his  danger, 
and  there  was  an  indefinite  idea  that  she  had  had  a  wonderful 
escape  from  the  Klan  on  the  way;  but  even  those  who  composed 
the  party  had  no  distinct  idea  of  the  manner  of  her  escape.  If 
it  occurred  to  any  one  of  them  to  suspect  the  fidelity  of  Mel- 
ville Gurney,  that  suspicion  was  put  at  rest  by  the  fact  that  he 
had  ever  since  seemed  utterly  oblivious  of  her  presence. 

So  Servosse  repeated  to  his  daughter  the  story  which  Bur- 
leson had  given,  and  at  its  conclusion  said,  "I  think  that  we 
have  done  him  injustice,  and  that  I  ought  to  write,  and  ac- 
knowledge his  considerateness ;  don't  you,  my  dear?" 

The  blushes  had  deepened  on  her  cheeks  as  he  thus  spoke, 
and  she  looked  up  shyly  with  a  tender  light  in  her  eyes,  at  the 
question  he  asked.     If  he  had  looked  at  her,  she  would  have 


Sl-4  A   FOOUS  ERUAXD. 

opened  her  heart,  and  shown  him  a  tender  secret  which  lay 
hidden  there  even  from  the  watchful  eyes  of  her  mother,  who 
for  a  while  after  her  adventure  had  half-suspected  the  truth, 
and  had  laid  many  innocent  little  planfe  to  surprise  her  secret, 
but  without  success.  The  Man  did  not  look  uj:),  however,  so 
she  only  answered  him  demurely,  — 

"  As  you  choose,  Papa.     I  am  sure  you  know  best." 
And   so,   he   wrote   his   letter  of   acknowledgment,  had  th'^ 
satisfaction  of  having  done  his  duty,  and  thought  no  more  of 
the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

UXCOXDITIOXAL    SURRENDER. 

"I  HAVE  come,  Colonel  Servosse,"  said  Melville  Gurney, 
sitting  in  the  other's  office  a  few  days  after  the  events  narrated 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  "  to  ask  your  permission  to  pay  my 
addresses  to  your  daughter." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Servosse,  starting  from  his  easy  atti- 
tude, and  gazing  at  the  flushed  and  embarrassed  young  man, 
with  a  look  of  consternation  which  the  latter  mistook  for 
anger. 

*'  I  know.  Colonel  Servosse,"  he  began  in  a  stammering, 
apologetic  voice  — 

"Stop,  stop  I"  said  Servosse,  springing  to  his  feet,  and  be- 
ginning to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  "Do  not  say  any 
thing  now,  if  you  please.     I  wish  to  think." 

The  young  man  looked  with  amazement  on  the  evident 
agitation  of  the  man  whose  coolness  and  self-possession  he 
had  so  often  heard  his  father  mention  with  admiration  and 
surprise.  He  had  expected  to  be  embarrassed  himself;  and, 
during  the  half-hour's  conversation  which  had  preceded  his 
avowal,  he  had  fully  realized  his  premonition.     The  reiterated 


UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER.  315 

thanks  of  the  other  for  the  service  rendered  himself  and 
daughter  had  been  received  with  confusing  blushes;  and  his 
replies  had  been  disjointed  and  irrelevant.  As  is  al\va3-s 
the  case,  his  embarrassment  kept  adding  to  his  confusion  of 
ideas,  until  at  length  ho  had  blurted  out  the  words  which  had 
produced  such  a  surprising  effect  on  his  auditor.  For  a  time, 
the  younger  man  was  by  far  the  more  composed  of  the  twain. 
The  elder  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room  until  his 
face  settled  into  those  calm,  rigid  lines  which  betoken  a  fixed 
purpose.  Then  he  sat  down  opposite  the  young  man,  and, 
looking  at  him  quietly  but  not  unkindly,  said;  — 

"Well?" 

*'  I  have  loved  Miss  Lily,"  said  Melville,  thus  inquiringly 
addressed,  "ever  since  I  first  saw  her." 

"On  the  night  of" —  asked  Servosse,  with  an  expressive 
tone  and  gesture. 

"  No,"  returned  the  other  :  "I  had  met  her  before,  while  she 
was  visiting  some  friends  in  Pultowa.  Slie  was  little  more 
than  a  child  then ;  but  I  was  so  impressed  with  her  that  I  asked 
leave  to  visit  her  at  home,  and  was  shortly  after  invited  to  a 
party  here." 

"  Ah,  1  recollect!  "  interposed  the  listener. 

"  Soon  after  that  time  occurred  the  incident  of  which  we 
have  been  speaking.  I  should  have  spoken  immediately  after 
that;  but  I  inferred,  from  her  silence  and  your  seeming  cool- 
ness, that  she  had  lost  all  regard,  or,  rather,  entertained  a 
positive  dislike,  for  me.  I  was  too  proud  to  take  any  indi- 
rect method  to  satisfy  myself  upon  this  point.  Your  letter 
seemea  to  open  the  way  for  me,  and  I  came  as  soon  as  1 
thought  would  appear  seemly." 

"  And  Lily,  have  you  spoken  to  her?  "  asked  Servosse,  with 
some  sternness. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  the  day  after  her  adventure,  save 
at  a  distance,  and  have  never  spoken  a  word  to  her  in  regard 
to  such  a  matter." 

"  And  3'our  parents,  young  man,  what  do  they  say  ?  "  asked 
the  Fool  sharply. 


316  A  FOODS  ERRAND. 

The  brown-bearded  face  before  him  flushed  hotly,  and  the 
young  man  drew  himself  up  somewhat  haughtily,  as  he  re- 
plied, — 

'•  I  am  twenty-eight  years  old,  have  a  fair  estate  in  my  own 
right,  and  chiefly  of  my  own  acquisition.  I  am  not  under  the 
control  of  my  parents." 

"  I  did  not  ask  with  regard  to  your  estate,  sir,"  said  Servosse 
quietly:  "I  asked  as  to  your  parents'  wishes." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  lover.  "  I  should  have  answered 
before ;  but  I  hardly  see  why  my  happiness  should  be  made  to 
depend  on  my  parents'  wishes.  If  I  were  a  minor,  it  would  be 
natural." 

*' Yet  I  suppose  I  may  ask,  whether  the  answer  be  material 
or  immaterial  to  your  proposal,"  said  the  Fool  with  the  ut- 
most composure. 

"  Oh,  certainly!  "  said  the  young  man,  with  considerable  con- 
fusion. "Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Colonel,  they  are  very 
strongly  averse  to  it.  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  let  them 
know  what  I  intended  doing." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  did  so,"  interposed  Serv^osse. 

"  I  told  them,  and  was  met  with  remonstrances  and  re- 
proaches by  my  mother,  and  with  more  of  anger  than  my 
father  had  ever  shown  towards  me  before." 

"  Their  objection  was  what  ?  "  sharply. 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  In  the  first  place,  they  had  made 
Tip  their  minds  that  I  should  do  otherwise.  I  knew  that  be- 
fore, had  known  it  for  years.  They  had  looked  forward,  and 
mapped  out  my  life  for  me,  —  all  in  kindness  and  love  I  know, 
—  and  I  am  sorry  I  can  not  comply  with  their  wishes.  I  told 
them  that  I  could  not,  and  that  I  must  be  the  judge  of  my  own 
happiness." 

*'  And  then  ?  "  as  the  young  man  paused. 

"  Well,"  said  he  apologetically,  "  there  was  as  much  of  a 
scene  as  there  ever  is  in  my  father's  house.  He  told  me  that 
if  I  persisted  in  ruining  my  prospects  I  might  take  the  respon- 
sibility. And  my  mother,  —  well,  sir,  you  must  excuse  her:  she 
was  much  disappointed,  but  it  will  not  last, —  she  said  that  if 
I  must  marry  a  Yankee  girl  I  need  not  bring  her  there." 


UNCOXDITIOXAL    SURRENDER.  317 

"Tn  other  -u'ords,  your  parents  object  to  an  alliance  with 
my  family  because  we  are  of  Northern  birth,"  said  the  Fool. 

"  Not  exactly :  not  so  much  because  you  are  Northerners, 
as  because  you  are  not  Southerners,  —  are  strangers  so  to 
speak;  not  of  us,  nor  imbued  with  our  feelings;  speaking 
our  language,  but  not  thinking  our  thoughts.  Then,  too,  you 
know.  Colonel,  there  has  been  much  political  bitterness,  and 
very  harsh  things  have  been  said;  and  there  is  among  the 
people  —  I  mean  those  who  constitute  our  best  society  —  a 
strange  sort  of  prejudice  against  you,  which  naturally  ex- 
tends, in  some  measure,  to  your  family." 

"  AVas  there  any  other  objection  urged  ?  " 

"None." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  this  ?  " 

"Only  what  I  said  years  ago,  when  T  first  realized  the 
strength  of  my  attachment :  '  I  will  woo  and  win  Lily  Servosse 
for  my  wife  if  I  can.'  " 

"  And  you  are  still  so  disposed?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  time,  and  then  Ser- 
vosse said, — 

"Your  conduct  in  this  whole  matter  has  been  most  honora- 
ble, JNIr.  Gurney;  and,  so  far  as  you  are  personally  concerned, 
you  are  entirely  unobjectionable  to  me.  What  may  be  my 
daughter's  opinion,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing.  I  have 
hardly  yet  accustomed  myself  to  recognize  the  possibility  of 
such  an  event  as  her  marriage.  She  is  lively  and  sociable, 
and  for  a  few  years  past  has  had  considerable  society  of  a 
general  sort,  but,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  has  never  before  been 
thought  of  as  marriageable,  nor  do  I  think  the  idea  has  once 
entered  lier  own  mind. 

"  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,  Mr.  Gurney,  that  I  wish  it*  had 
not  occurred  to  you.  I  think  your  parents'  objections  are  wise 
and  weighty.  I  do  not  put  it  upon  the  ground  of  restraint  or 
duty*;  but  I  think  they  correctly  estimate  the  difference  of 
surroundings,  habits  of  thought,  and  all  those  things  which 
enter  so  largely  into  the  make-up  of  human  life,  and  which 


318  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

youth  and  passion  often  fail  to  consider.  T  think  it  would  be 
better  for  you  to  wed  a  daughter  of  your  own  people,  and  better 
for  her  to  take  a  husband  whose  ideas  are  more  in  harmony 
with  those  to  which  she  has  been  accustomed.  I  know  these 
also  to  be,  even  more  decidedly,  the  views  of  my  wife.  I  sup- 
pose she  would  feel  almost  as  badly  at  her  daughter's  marry- 
ing a  Southern  man  as  your  mother  does  at  the  prospect  of 
a  Northern  daughter-in-law,  or  perhaps  worse. 

"  Notwithstanding  these  views,  I  admit  that  it  is  entirely 
a  question  of  your  mutual  happiness,  which  no  one  can  de- 
termine but  yourselves.  I  have  the  utmost  confidence  in 
Lily's  judgment  and  sincerity.  I  would  not  have  her  accept 
or  reject  your  proposal  hastily.  It  is  not  the  case  of  two 
young  people  who  have  grown  up  together,  each  knowing  the 
other's  faults,  understanding  their  mental  and  moral  natures. 
You  are  almost  strangers. 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  he  continued,  responsively  to  a  shake  of  the 
young  man's  head,  "  Love  has  wings,  and  makes  swift  journeys 
and  instant  discoveries;  but  it  will  do  no  harm  to  have  his 
reports  confirmed  by  reason  and  quiet  observation.  I  shall  do 
nothing  to  influence  her  decision,  unless  she  asks  my  advice ; 
in  which  case  I  shall  tell  her,  as  near  as  may  be,  what  I  have 
told  you, 

"  You  have  my  leave  to  pay  your  addresses  ;  and,  if  I  can 
not  wish  you  success  in  your  wooing,  I  hope  you  understand 
that  I  will  throw  no  obstacle  in  your  way,  and,  should  you 
succeed,  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  render  happy  the  result. 
I  hope  that  my  frankness  will  induce  a  like  candor  upon  your 
part  with  my  daughter.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  you  will 
find  her  more  ripened  and  developed  in  mind  and  character 
than  hor  yc-ars  would  lead  a  stranger  to  expect." 

'Ulie  two  men  shook  hands,  and  Melville  inquired  if  he  could 
see  Miss  Lily.  Upon  inquiry,  it  was  found  that  she  had  just 
started  to  ride  upon  "  the  three-o'clock  road  "  towards  Verden- 
ton,  —  a  road  so  denominated  because  it  lay  through  the  ^'oods, 
and,  even  at  that  most  oppressive  hour  of  the  day,  the  sun  did 
not  once  beat  upon  the  traveler  in  the  five  miles  which  it 
extended. 


UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER. 


;i9 


"  She  has  Young  Lollard,"  the  father  said,  as  he  returned 
from  the  house;  "but  she  is  too  good  a  horsewoman  to  ride 
fast  at  the  beginning,  and  in  this  heat.  You  will  probably 
overtake  her  before  she  reaches  the  town,  and  you  can  take 
your  own  time  on  the  return.  By  the  way,"  he  added,  "I 
spoke  briefly  to  my  wife  of  your  errand,  and  she  fully  ap- 
proves what  I  have  said  to  you." 

The  young  man  thanked  him  again,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and 
dashed  off  in  the  direction  indicated. 

Half  way  to  the  town,  Lily  was  passing  through  a  shady 
bottom,  when  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  bdiind  her  attracted 
her  attention,  and,  turning,  she  saw  a  man  approaching  at  full 
speed,  mounted  on  a  powerful  gray  horse.  At  the  first  glance 
sh-  recognized  the  horse  as  that  ridden  by  the  messenger  who 
had  brought  the  warning  of  her  father's  peril.  During  all  the 
time  that  had  since  elapsed,  she  had  never  forgotten  the  horse 
or  the  rider,  and  had  always  been  on  the  watch  for  them,  in 
order  that  she  might  testify  her  gratitude.  The  memory  this 
discovery  evoked  so  startled  and  overwhelmed  her,  that  she 
quite  forgot  to  notice  the  rider,  until  Melville  Gurney  drew  up 
at  her  side,  and,  doffing  his  hat,  said  cheerily,  — 

«  Good-evening,  Miss  Lily  ! "  And  then,  noticing  her  pallor 
and  confusion,  he  added,  "  Pardon  me :  I  hope  I  did  not  startle 
you.  It  was  very  thoughtless  in  me  to  ride  up  at  that  gait  ; 
and,  indeed,  I  would  not  have  done  so,  had  I  not  known  your 
skill  as  a  horsewoman." 

"Oh!"  she  said  confusedly,  "it  was  not  you,  but  your 
horse." 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied,  laughing  heartily.  "That  is  what 
I  supposed;  and  it  was  for  my  horse  I  was  apologizing." 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  that,"  she  said,  blushing  prettily,  and 
laughing  too.  "I  thought  I  recognized  your  horse;  and  it 
startled  me  to  see  him  again." 

"  Ah  I  you  are  a  close  observer  of  horses,"  he  said  pleasantly. 
"When  and  where  did  you  think  you  had  seen  him  V  He  is  a 
somewhat  notable  horse." 

"  Very !  One  could  hardly  fail  to  remember  him.  Does  he 
belong  to  you,  Mr.  Gurney  ?  " 


320  A    FOOrS   ERRAND. 

"  What,  Reveille  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an  amused  smile.  "  No^ 
indeed  !  He  is  my  father's  favorite  saddle-horse.  Never  had 
a  harness  on ;  and  I  don't  suppose  any  one  ever  backed  him  but 
Pa,  myself,  and  Brother  Jimmie." 

"  A  younger  brother  ?  "  she  asked  innocently. 

**■  Yes,  ten  years  younger." 

"  Is  he  like  you  ?  " 

"  No,  lighter.     Almost  as  blonde  as  you." 

"How  long  has  your  father  owned  Reveille?  " 

"  Raised  him  from  a  foal.  He  is  almost  as  fond  of  horses 
as  your  father.  Miss  Lily." 

"  Indeed !  "  And  she  thought  with  a  strange  pleasure,  "  And 
your  father  saved  my  father's  life."  Then  it  occurred  to  her 
that  possibly  it  might  have  been  the  act  of  the  man  who  rode 
beside  her :  she  would  find  out.  So  she  said,  with  burning 
-cheeks  and  an  arch  emphasis,  — 

"  You  were  not  so  well  mounted  when  we  rode  together  last, 
Mr.  Gurney." 

"  No,  indeed.  Pa  had  Reveille  with  him  in  another  county 
when  I  left  home  the  day  before." 

"  For  which  fact  it  behooves  me  to  be  duly  grateful,  I  do  not 
doubt,  Mr.  Gurney,"  she  said  lightly. 

"Reveille  could  have  pushed  Young  Lollard  closer  than 
the  black  mare  did,''  he  answered,  with  significant  emphasis. 
Something  in  his  tone  made  her  heart  beat  with  strange  appre- 
hension. To  change  the  subject,  she  said  desperately,  eying 
the  horse  critically  as  she  spoke, — 
•  '•  I  think  I  have  seen  that  horse  at  Warrington." 

"  I  am  sure  he  was  never  there  until  to-day,"  he  answered. 

"You  came  by  there,  then?"  she  asked,  because  she  could 
think  of  nothing  else  to  say.  The  strange  prescience  of  her 
woman's  heart  told  her  that  her  hour  had  come ;  and,  like  a 
moth  about  a  candle,  it  seemed  that  she  but  fluttered  nearer 
to  her  doom  with  every  weak  attempt  to  avoid  it. 

"  My  business  was  with  your  father,"  he  replied. 

She  looked  up  quickly,  as  if  surprised,  and  met  his  eyes 
flaming  down  into  her  own  the  question  which  his  tremulous 


UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER.  321 

lips  were  trying  to  syllable  forth.  The  terror  of  maiden  love 
in  its  last  effort  at  concealment  took  hold  upon  her.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  to  avert  the  utterance  of  words  which 
she  knew  would  come,  which  her  bounding  heart  was  clamor- 
ous to  reward.  The  horses  were  walking  slowly,  side  by  side, 
in  the  cool  shadows.  He  reached  across,  and  took  her  bridle- 
hand  in  his,  and  stopped  them  both.  She  did  not  resist.  She 
wished  she  had  not  submitted.  She  could  not  lift  her  eyes 
from  her  horse's  mane.  Then  came  one  last  struggle  of  maid- 
enly reserve.  As  is  always  the  case,  it  was  one  of  those  stupid 
blunders  which  throw  down  the  last  defense,  and  leave  the 
fluttering,  tender  heart  at  the  mercy  of  the  relentless  assailant. 

"  O  Mr.  Gurney,"  she  cried,  in  feverish  desperation,  "  I 
have  never  had  a  chance  before  to  beg  your  forgiveness  for 
what  I  did  that  night  !     I  am  sure  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  he  said  exultantly. 

"  Why  V  "  She  looked  up  in  wonder  at  his  apparent  rude- 
ness ;  but  her  eyes  fell  again,  as  he  replied,  — 

"Because  your  sorrow  for  the  past  will  incline  you  to  be 
merciliil  in  the  future.  If  you  are  sony  for  having  broken 
my  arm,  how  would  you  feel  if  you  should  break  my  heart  ?  " 

Iler  head  sank  lower.  The  two  thorough-breds  were  amica- 
bly making  acquaintance,  regardless  of  the  little  drama  which 
was  being  enacted  by  their  riders. 

'  "  Lily,"  —  his  head  w^as  bent  very  low,  and  the  word  thrilled 
her  heart  like  the  low  music  of  an  unseen  waterfall,  — "  Lily, 
I  asked  your  father  to  allow  me  to  seek  your  love ;  and  he  sent 
me  to  learn  my  fate  from  your  lips.  What  shall  it  be,  Lily  ? 
Will  you  be  mine?" 

"  O  Melville  !  I  mean,  Mr.  "  —  she  stammered  hastily. 

His  arm  was  about  her  waist.  She  was  half  drawn  from 
her  saddle,  and  bearded  lips  took  tribute  of  her  trembling 
mouth,  and  eyes  glowing  with  impassioned  lovelight  looked 
down  into  hers,  before  she  could  protest.  One  instant  she 
yielded  herself  to  the  intoxication  of  young  love.  Then  there 
came  a  chilling  fear,  and  she  asked,  with  shuddering  premoni- 
tion, — 


322  A   FOODS  ERRAND. 

"  But  your  father,  your  parents,  Mr.  Gurney,  —  do  they  kno\v 
what  you  are  —  what  you  wish?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  do  they  —  do  they—  approve  ?  "  hesitatingly. 

"What  matters  that,  darling?  Your  father  does  not  object, 
and  I  am  of  age,"  he  answered,  with  something  of  defiance. 

She  freed  herself  at  once  from  his  embrace,  and  sat  erect  and 
queenly  in  her  saddle.  He  regarded  her  changed  demeanor 
with  something  of  apprehension  ;  but  he  said  lightly,  — 

"You  have  not  given  me  my  answer  yet,  Lily.  What  shall 
it  be  ?     Will  you  break  my  heart  as  well  as  my  arm?  " 

She  looked  frankly  and  unflinchingly  into  his  eyes,  and  laid 
her  hand  softly  but  firmly  on  his  arm,  as  she  replied  in  a 
calm,  even  tone,  — 

"Melville  —  Mr.  Gurney,  there  can  be  no  thought  of —  of 
what  you  wish,  between  us,  so  long  as  your  father  is  opposed  to 
the  course  you  have  taken." 

"But,  Lily  —  Miss  Servosse,  you  surely  do  not,  you  can 
not,  mean  what  you  have  said ! "  he  cried,  in  an  agony  of  sur- 
prise and  pain. 

She  merely  turned,  and  looked  into  his  eyes  again,  and  made 
no  more  reply.  He  knew  then  that  she  would  adhere  to  her 
resolution  until  death,  if  there  were  any  need  to  do  so.  An 
icy  chill  went  through  his  frame.  The  joy  seemed  frozen  out 
of  his  countenance,  and  only  a  sad,  hopeless  hunger  remained. 
After  a  moment,  he  said  huskily,  — 

"Will  you  tell  me  M'hy,  Lily  ?  " 

"I  can  not,  Melville,"  she  answered.  A  little  hope  shot  up 
in  his  heart. 

"  I  have  waited  a  long  time,  Lily.  I  have  tried  in  vain  to 
remove  my  father's  objection.  Is  my  duty  alone  to  him,  and 
for  ever  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  your  duty,  Mr.  Gurney,  it  is  mine,  that  impels  me 
to  say  what  I  have." 

"  Your  duty  ?  How  can  that  be?  What  duty  do  you  owe 
my  father  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  tell  you." 


UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER.  323 

« Is  it  your  duty,  as  you  say,  because  you  think  I  have  failed 
in  mine  ?  " 

"Xot  at  all." 

The  horses  had  become  impatient,  and  began  to  walk  on. 

"  And  you  mean  this  to  be  final?"  he  asked  half  querulously. 

She  drew  rein,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  eye  again. 

"Melville  Gurney,"  she  said,  "you  know  what  I  dared  for 
my  father.  I  would  dare  even  more  for  your  sake;  but  I  can 
not  yield  to  your  request,  because  3-our  father  objects,  and 
because  —  because  I  love  nvj  father ! " 

"  Because  you  love  your  father?  I  can  not  understand.  He 
has  not  objected." 

'•  So  I  am  aware." 

'•You  are  pleased  to  deal  in  riddles." 

"I  am  sorry." 

They  rode  on  a  little  way  in  silence.  Then  he  stopped  his 
horse,  and,  raising  his  hat,  said  coolly,  — 

"  I  will  bid  you  good-evening.  Miss  Lily." 

Tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  she  leanecj  towards  him,  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  said,  — 

"  Do  not,  Melville.  You  must  not  be  angry  with  me.  I  am 
sure  I  am  doing  right,  but  I  can  not  explain.  Let  us  go  back 
to  Warrington.  Be  patient.  All  will  be  well ;  and  some  time, 
I  am  sure,  you  will  approve  my  course." 

How  beautiful  she  looked  as  she  pleaded  for  kindness !  But 
her  beauty  only  inflamed  his  anger.  He  seized  her  fiercely  by 
the  arm.  She  did  not  shrink,  though  his  grip  was  like  steel, 
and  he  knew  that  the  slender  arm  would  bear  the  marks  of 
his  violence  for  many  a  day. 

"  Lily  Servosse,"  he  said  passionately,  "  listen  to  me  !  You 
must  — you  shall  be  mine!  I  swear  that  I  will  never  wed 
any  one  but  you !  " 

"  I  will  take  that  oath  with  you,  Melville  Gurney,"  she  re- 
plied seriously,  "  and  seal  it  with  a  kiss." 

She  lifted  up  her  face,  and  he  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her 
proffered  lips. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  gayly,  as  she  wheeled  her  horse,  "  for 
a  gallop  back  to  W%rriugton !  " 


324  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  her  home  she  drew  rein,  and 
he  asked  anxiously,  — 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  When  your  father  sends  you  to  me,"  she  answered  gay'iy. 

They  said  "  good-evening "  at  the  gate,  and  she  watched 
him  through  her  tears  as  he  rode  away.  She  saw  her  father 
standing  at  his  library-door  as  she  turned,  and  dashing  up  to 
him  she  leaped  into  his  arms,  and  was  borne  into  the  library. 
With  her  head  hidden  in  his  breast  she  told  him  all,  and  more 
than  she  had  told  her  lover. 

"  Did  I  not  do  right,  dear  Papa?  "  she  asked,  when  the  story 
was  completed. 

"  God  knows,  my  daughter !  "  he  replied  solemnly ;  and  his 
tears  fell  upon  her  blushing,  upturned  face  as  he  kissed  he., 
but  his  own  was  lighted  up  with  a  rapturous  joy,  which  was 
an  abundant  answer. 

Then  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  up  the  steps 
of  the  great  house  (thinking  the  meanwhile  of  the  romping 
girl  whom  he  had  first  borne  thither  a  dozen  years  before}, 
to  the  room  where  the  still  fair  mother  sat,  and,  placing  one 
upon  either  knee,  repeated  the  story  to  her. 

The  setting  sun  looked  in,  and  kissed  their  mingling  tears 
"with  golden  light. 

"  AVell,"  said  General  Gurney,  with  a  tinge  of  sarcasm,  when 
he  met  his  son  the  next  morning,  "  I  suppose  you  accomplished 
your  errand  ?  " 

"  I  saw  Miss  Lily  Servosse,"  was  the  terse  reply. 

"  And  offered  her  your  heart  and  hand  ?  "  mockingly. 

"I  certainly  did,"  was  the  emphatic  answer. 

"And  was  accepted  unth  thaiiks,  no  doubt."  The  sneer  was 
intense  by  this  time.     "  lleally  I  "  — 

"Stop!"  said  the  son,  turning  on  him  a  brow  as  haughty 
as  his  own,  and  black  with  suppressed  thunder.  "You  little 
know  whom  you  are  deriding!  Do  I  look  like  an  accepted 
lover?  " 

His  father  looked  after  him  in  open-mouthed  wonder  as  he 


UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER.  325 

strode  away.  He  felt  for  the  first  time,  as  he  did  so,  that  he 
had  fallen  back  from  the  foremost  place.  lie  was  a  part  of 
that  ever-shrinking  Old  which  the  ever-increasing  ISTew  is 
perpetually  overshadowing.  His  sight  was  not  dimmed,  his 
arm  was  unshrunken ;  but  the  life  which  had  sprung  from  his 
loins  was  stronger  than  he.  He  might  be  an  equal  for  a  time, 
by  the  grace  of  filial  love,  but  no  more  the  guide  and  helper. 
All  at  once  he  awoke  to  the  fact  that  the  world  had  moved 
while  he  had  been  sleeping.  For  the  first  time  he  began  to 
doubt  his  own  wisdom. 

''Fanny,"  he  said  to  his  wdfe  later  in  the  day,  in  an  in- 
credulous, querulous  tone,  "can  it  be  that  that —  that —  minx 
has  refused  our  Melville  ?  " 

'•  So  it  seems,"  answered  the  good  lady,  about  equally  as- 
tounded at  her  husband's  tone  and  the  fact  she  announced. 

"  Confound  their  Yankee  impudence  !  Just  think  of  a  Gur- 
ney  jilted  by  a  Yankee!  It's  like  them,  though,  and  I  am 
glad  of  it.  It  will  teach  the  young  fool  to  look  at  some  of 
our  home  girls." 

"Don't  think  that,"  said  the  wife,  with  truer  forecast. 
"Melville  will  never  marry  any  one  else.  He  told  me  so 
himself." 

"  Oh !  he'll  get  over  that." 

"  Some  might ;  but  he  will  not.  I'm  almost  sorry  we  opposed 
him.  It  seems  that,  when  she  found  that  out,  my  lady  was  on 
her  dignity,  and  would  not  hear  a  word  more." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "  I  declare, 
T  admire  her  pluck.  There  must  be  good  blood  about  her.  It 
will  teach  the  young  rascal  to  despise  his  parents'  wishes.  I 
never  expected  to  think  as  well  of  her.  She  must  be  a  rough, 
coarse  hoyden,  from  what  I  learn  about  her,  though,  —  any 
thing  but  a  fit  wife  for  Melville !  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  assented  the  mother,  with  a  sigh. 


326  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND, 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

PRIDE    OVERMATCHING   PRIDE. 

From  the  night  of  her  perilous  ride,  Young  Lollard  had 
become  the  sole  and  separate  property  of  Lily  Servosse.  Jn 
acknowledgment  and  remembrance  of  that  act,  a  decree  had 
gone  forth  at  Warrington  that  none  else  should  ride  the  care- 
fully nurtm-ed  horse  but  his  young  mistress,  or  such  as  she 
might  give  express  permission  so  to  do.  As  the  public  interests 
and  duties  of  the  father  lessened,  the  old  routine  of  rambling 
rides  about  the  country  roads  was  resumed, — the  father  and 
daughter  becoming  almost  inseparable  companions,  the  mother, 
by  reason  of  her  added  household  cares,  seldom  accompanying 
them.     Sometimes,  however,  the  daughter  went  alone. 

It  was  on  such  an  occasion,  not  long  after  the  events  of  the 
last  chapter,  that  Lily  one  day  came  upon  a  pack  of  hounds 
running  on  a  hot  trail  in  the  low  woods  upon  the  left  of  the 
road  she  was  pursuing.  Such  a  circumstance  was  by  no  means 
•uncommon  in  that  region;  and,  though  she  J;ad  herself  never 
joined  in  a  chase,  yet  she  had  so  often  listened  to  accounts  of 
them,  and  had  so  observed  her  father's  keen  relish  of  their 
excitement  the  few  times  she  had  known  him  to  engage  in 
them,  that  her  pulses  beat  faster  as  the  chase  turned  toward 
the  road,  and  grew  faster  and  hotter,  and  the  clamor  Avilder'and 
fiercer,  every  moment. 

Young  Lollard  had  been  ridden  to  hounds  a  few  times,  and 
had  not  forgotten  the  wonderful  excitement  of  the  chase.  As 
he  heard  it  now  sweeping  towards  him,  he  sto]iped  and  stood 
like  a  statue,  save  for  the  tremor  of  delight  whicli  swept  through 
his  frame  at  each  new  outburst  of  the  clamorous  music,  and 
the  quivering  ears,  distended  nostrils,  and  long  deep  suspira- 
tions.  Lily  knew  that  he  would  not  long  remain  so;  and  with 
all  her  fearlessness  as  a  horsewoman  she  did  not  quite  relish 


PRIDE   OVERMATCHING  PRIDE.  827 

the  idea  of  his  bursting  away  through  the  low-branching  second- 
growth  to  follow  the  pack.  She  was  very  doubtful  of  her 
power  to  restrain  him.  Half  laughing,  she  thought  of  the 
tattered  plight  she  would  soon  be  in  should  she  fail  to  do  so. 
She  saw  her  jaunty  hat  snatched  by  overhanging  limbs,  her 
flowing  habit  hooked  by  thorn  and  brier,  and  perchance  some  of 
her  flowing  locks  caught  like  Absalom's.  Yet  she  did  not  once 
thiiik  of  abandoning  her  seat.  She  braced  herself  for  whatever 
might  come,  determined,  if  not  well  satisfied  of  her  power  to 
hold  him  back,  to  let  him  take  his  course  rather  than  allow 
him  to  suppose  tliat  he  was  able  to  do  otherwise  than  as  she 
desired.  Perhaps  she  was  not  entirely  averse  to  trying  one  of 
those  dashes  through  the  brush  which  she  had  so  often  heard 
described  when  the  trained  horse  needs  no  guidance;  indeed, 
none  can  be  attempted,  as  he  leaps  with  instinctive  certainty 
through  the  most  available  openings  of  the  wood.  She  patted 
the  arched  neck,  and  spoke  in  her  most  soothing  tones,  as  the 
chase  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  All  at  once,  and  just  as  she 
expected  to  see  the  pack  come  bursting  from  the  copse  upon 
the  roadside,  their  course  changed  sharply  to  the  left,  and  they 
swept  down  a  little  ridge  almost  parallel  with  the  road.  Then 
she  gave  her  horse  the  rein,  and  he  bounded  forward  with  his 
magnificent  stride,  almost  abreast  of  the  hunt,  his  eye  and  ear 
alert  for  every  indication  of  their  presence. 

The  ridge  which  the  chase  was  following  ran  about  midway 
between  the  road  on  which  Lily  was,  and  another  into  which 
this  led  about  half  a  mile  from  where  she  had  stopped.  Just 
before  reaching  this  road,  the  land  sloped  sharply  towards  it, 
the  ground  was  more  open,  and,  beyond  the  road,  fell  away  to  a 
wide  bottom,  stretching  down  to  a  creek  with  thick  willow 
margins  and  occasional  patches  of  dense  reeds.  It  was  this 
shelter  that  the  chase  was  evidently  striving  to  reach. 

Lily  felt  all  the  surging  frenzy  of  the  huntsman  as  Young 
Lollard  tore  along  the  slightly  undulating  road,  and  once  or 
twice  found  herself  even  urging  him  on,  as  she  fancied  the  hunt 
was  gaining  upon  him.  As  she  neared  the  intersection,  she 
heard  a  loud  view-halloo  upon  the  other  road,  and  an  instant 


328  A   FOODS  ERRAND. 

after,  seeing  the  chase  as  he  glided  swiftly  across  an  open  space 
in  the  copse,  she  returned  it  in  her  shrill  treble  as  she  had  been 
taught  to  do  by  her  father.  Hardly  fifty  yards  behind  him 
came  the  pack;  and,  as  he  dashed  across  the  road  into  the  open 
ground  leading  down  to  the  creek,  they  burst  into  a  louder  and 
wilder  chorus,  and  then,  neck  to  neck,  with  short,  impatient 
yelps,  the  sinewy  undulating  backs  rising  and  falling  together, 
one  a  length  in  advance,  and  one  unfortunate  fellow  struggling 
along  in  the  rear,  they  swept  across  the  smooth  expanse  of  old 
corn-rows  down  upon  their  prey. 

So  absorbed  was  Lily  in  the  sight  and  in  the  exhilarating 
motion  of  her  horse,  that  she  hardly  noticed  the  horseman  whose 
view-halloo  she  had  heard,  but  swept  on  unconscious  of  all  but 
the  hunt,  of  which  she  had  now  become  a  part.  She  did  dimly 
notice  a  horseman  who  reached  the  intersection  almost  at  the 
same  time,  on  a  powerful  gray,  from  whose  long  strides  even 
Young  Lollard  was  able  to  draw  away  but  little  in  the  few  hun- 
dred yards  over  which  they  flew  before  the  race  w^as  ended. 
The  huntsman  leaped  down  at  once,  and,  dashing  among  the 
hounds,  rescued  the  chase  before  they  had  time  to  mutilate  it, 
and  came  towards  Lily,  holding  up  a  magnificent  specimen  of 
the  red  fox.  He  smoothed  its  rumpled  coat,  and  displayed  its 
splendid  brush,  with  the  keen  appreciation  of  the  veteran 
hunter,  as  he  came  forward,  and  held  it  up  for  her  inspection, 
exclaiming,  — 

"  A  fine  fellow,  Madam,  and  a  splendid  chase  —  at  least,  a 
splendid  burst  at  the  end!  And  gallantly  ridden.  Madam, 
allow  me  to  say,  gallantly  ridden !  "  He  raised  his  hat  as  he 
spoke,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  continued,  "  Allow  me  to  present 
this  trophy,  Madam,  which  few  ladies  have  ever  as  fairly 
earned.  You  were  easily  the  first  in  at  the  death,  though  I 
must  confess  that  I  most  ungallantly  pressed  my  horse  when  I 
saw  yours  drawing  away  from  him.  AVe  had  about  an  even 
start  at  the  road,  and  I  was  greatly  chagrined  at  not  being  able 
to  keep  neck  and  neck  with  you.  That  is  a  splendid  animal 
you  have,"  he  added  after  he  had  hung  the  fox  to  her  saddle. 
"  r  did  not  think  there  was  a  horse  in  this  region  that  could 
distance  mine." 


PRIDE   OVERMATCHING  PRIDE.  329 

He  motioned  towards  his  horse;  and  Lily  knew  at  a  glance 
that  it  was  the  same  gray  which  was  indelibly  photographed 
upon  her  memory,  which  had  brought  the  messenger  who  gave 
warning  of  her  father's  peril,  and  the  lover  who  sought  her 
hand  in  vain,  although  he  had  borne  away  her  heart. 

"This,  then,  is  Melville's  father,  the  man  who  stands  be- 
tween us  and  happiness,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  turned  her 
gaze  upon  him,  conscious  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed  even 
beyond  what  the  excitement  of  the  chase  would  justify. 

She  saw  a  tall,  haughty-faced  man,  in  w^hose  eye  there  was 
no  indecision,  and  whose  firm-shut  lips  confirmed  the  judgment 
instinctively  made  up  from  eye  and  brow.  The  close-clipped 
beard  and  slightly-curling  hair  were  of  the  same  rich  brown 
as  his  son's,  but  streaked  here  and  there  with  gray.  In  form 
and  feature  his  son  closely  resembled  him,  softened  in  outline, 
and  perhaps  somewhat  less  formal  and  austere  in  manner. 
Despite  the  feeling  of  injustice  which  had  rankled  in  her 
bosom  toward  this  man  since  she  knew  of  the  objection  which 
he  had  interposed  to  her  union  with  his  favorite  son,  she  could 
not  avoid  a  feeling  of  pride  in  the  father  of  her  lover.  While 
she  made  these  observations,  he  had  been  scanning,  with  the 
eye  of  a  connoisseur,  the  proportions  of  Young  Lollard,  and 
remarking  upon  his  excellences.  The  hounds  were  stretched 
about,  lolling  in  utter  exhaustion,  or  wallowing  and  drinking 
in  the  creek  near  by. 

"  A  splendid  horse,  Madam,  and  finely  bred.  He  has  a  look 
which  I  ought  to  remember,  though  I  can  not  recall  where  I 
have  seen  it.  Not  a  stock  often  met  with  here.  Somewhat 
more  of  bone  than  our  thorough-breds  usually  show.  You  know 
his  stock,  of  course,  Madam.  Xo  one  could  ride  such  a  horse, 
and  ride  him  .as  you  do,  without  appreciating  his  qualities. 
Let  me  see,"  he  continued,  without  waiting  for  reply,  and  step- 
ping back  a  pace  or  two,  so  as  to  get  the  ensemble  of  the  horse 
more  readil3%  "he  is  like  —  no  —  yes,  he  is  very  like  —  Colonel 
Servosse's  Lollard." 

"  And  he  is  Young  Lollard,"  said  Lily. 

The  man  raised  his  eyes  quickly  to  her  face,  and  let  them 


330  A    FOOVS   ERRAND. 

fall,  with  careful  scrutiny  of  her  dress  and  figure,  to  the  horse 
again,  as  he  said  musingly,  — 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  remember  his  telling  me  about  the  colt.  By  a 
Glencoe  dam,  I  think  he  said." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Lily. 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 

*-I  am  Lily  Servosse,"  she  answered,  in  tones  as  calm  as  his 
own . 

"  So  I  inferred,"  he  responded.  "  The  Colonel  has  reason  to 
be  proud,  both  of  his  daughter  and  his  horse,"  he  added,  with 
quiet  approval  in  his  voice.  "  And  I  am  General  Gurney. 
Allow  me  to  introduce  myself.  Miss  Lily,  and  wish  for  our 
better  acquaintance."  He  doffed  his  hat  again,  and  watched 
her  keenly,  as  he  extended  his  hand.  Her  countenance  did 
not  change,  and  she  said,  with  the  utmost  composure,  — 

'•  Thank  you.     I  had  inferred  as  much." 

He  smiled  at  this  echo  of  his  own  words,  and  said,  looking 
at  his  own  horse,  "  Lideed !  You  have  seen  him  before,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"Twice." 

"  Yes.  That  reminds  me.  Miss  Lily,  that  I  am  your  debtor 
for  refusing  the  offer  of  my  son's  hand,  not  long  since.  It 
seems  a  queer  thing  to  thank  one  for ;  and,  now  that  I  have 
seen  you,"  he  added  pleasantly,  "  I  can  not  wonder  that  he 
made  the  tender.  At  his  age,  I  am  almost  certain  I  should 
have  risked  a  like  fate." 

"Xof  unless  the  horse  were  to  be  my  dowry,  I  am  afraid," 
she  retorted  mischievouslv. 

"Well,"  said  he,  laughing,  "the  pair  should  not  be  sepa- 
rated. But  seriously,"  he  added,  "  I  am  thankful  for  your 
rejection  of  his  suit,  and  hope  I  may  express  it  \vithout  offense. 
I  am  not  surprised  that  he  should  become  enamoured  of  one 
having  such  charms,  nor  surprised  at  his  chagrin ;  but  you 
must  know,  ]\Iiss  Lily,  parents  will  form  plans  for  their  chil- 
dren, and  we  had  especially  fixed  ou"  hearts  upon  another  wife 
for  Melville.  I  am  afraid  he  may  t  .ke  your  refusal  so  much 
to  heart,  that  we  shall  miss  having  a  daughter  at  all  ;  thoisgh 
it  may  hplp  him  to  overoonip  his  attaclitn^^nt." 


PRIDE   OVERMATCHING  PRIDE.  331 

"But  I  did  not  refuse  him,  General  Guniey,"  she  said,  with 
quiet  candor. 

"  You  did  not  refuse  him  ?  I  understood  him  to  say  that  he 
had  been  refused  ;  or  at  least  his  mother  so  informed  me," 
he  responded  with  surprise. 

"  I  told  him,"  Lily  replied  to  his  questioning  tone  and  sur- 
prised look,  "  that,  so  long  as  his  father  was  opposed  to  it,  there 
could  be  nothing  looking  towards  marriage  between  us." 

"  And  why  did  you  make  that  condition  ? "  he  asked  in 
surprise.  "  Such  regard  for  the  j&lial  duty  of  a  lover  is  not 
usual  with  our  American  ladies." 

"I  refused  to  explain  to  Melville,"  she  replied,  "but  you  have 
a  right  to  inquire.  There  was  little  or  no  thought  of  his  filial 
duty  in  it.     I  simply  felt  it  a  duty  which  I  owed  to  you  myself.'^ 

"How,  to  me?  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

"Because  you  sent  the  warning  which  saved  my  father's 
life,"  she  answered  steadily. 

He  started,  and  flushed  to  his  temples. 

"  You  infer  that  also  !  "  he  said  sharply.  "  From  what,  may 
I  ask  ?  " 

"  Your  younger  son  brought  it,  riding  upon  that  horse,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  Reveille. 

"  And  that  warning  caused  you  to  try  a  perilous  ride,"  said  he. 

"  Which  I  was  only  too  happy  to  undertake,"  she  responded 
quickly. 

"  And  did  you  not  think  it  was  cowardly  and  mean  for  me  to 
leave  it  for  you  to  thwart  that  horrible  scheme?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  had  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light,"  she  answered 
musingly. 

"  I  have  often,  since  ;  and  have  thoroughly  despised  my 
weakness.  I  even  tried  to  conceal  the  fact  that  I  had  given 
the  warning.  I  have  never  told  any  one,  not  even  the  boy  who 
bore  the  message." 

"  I  have  only  told  my  father,"  she  said  simply. 

"  And  you  refused  my  son's  addresses  solely  on  account  of 
that  fact  ?  "  he  asked  musingly. 


332  A   FOOrS  ERRAND. 

"  The  question  is  hardly  a  fair  one,"  she  answered,  for  the 
first  time  somewhat  confused. 

*'  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said  quickly.  "  You  are  right.  I  have 
no  right  to  ask  that  question.     I  withdraw  it." 

"  Xo,  General  Gurney,"  said  Lily,  looking  a,t  him  earnestly, 
"I  will  conceal  nothing  from  you.  I  refused  to  accede  to  his 
request  that  we  should  be  engaged,  for  that  reason  alone." 

"  And  your  father  —  does  he  know?  " 

"I  have  been  as  frank  with  him  as  with  you." 

"  And  he  approves  ?  " 

"Most  heartily." 

"Miss  Lily"  — 

There  was  the  blast  of  a  horn,  and  a  half-dozen  horsemen 
dashed  into  sight  upon  the  road  by 'which  the  general  had  come. 

"Yo-ho-o-o!  "  he  shouted  quickly,  in  reply,  adding  briefly  to 
her,  "  There  is  my  friend  Morrow.  I  thought  these  were  his 
dogs.     I  stumbled  on  the  hunt,  as  well  as  you." 

The  horsemen  were  at  hand  by  the  time  he  had  finished  this 
remark.  Introductions  and  explanations  followed.  Morrow 
gave  a  history  of  the  run.  The  general  gave  a  vivid  recital 
of  the  capture.  Compliments  were  showered  profusely  upon 
Lily;  and  Morrow  accepted  her  invitation  to  "go  by"  her 
father's  house,  and  dine  with  them,  as  it  was  upon  his  way 
home.  Greetings  were  exchanged ;  and,  under  the  escort  of 
the  fresh-hearted  old  fox-hunter,  Lily  returned  to  Warrington. 

"I  declare,  Colonel,"  was  his  final  comment  as  he  rode 
away  after  dinner,  "some  of  our  fine  young  fellows  must 
make  a  run  for  that  gal  of  yours.  Ding  my  buttons  if  she 
ain't  more  Southern  than  any  of  our  own  gals !  It  won't  do 
for  such  a  gal  as  that  to  go  North  for  a  husband.  It  would 
be  a  pity,  I  swear,  to  let  her  marry  a  Yankee  !  It  mustn't  be, 
Colonel.     I  shall  send  some  one  to  prevent  such  a  calamity." 

"  Too  late,  Morrow,"  said  Servosse  briskly.  "  She  leaves 
for  the  North  on  Monday,  and  takes  Young  Lollard  with 
her." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man  ruefully.  "  Well, 
they'll   never  let  her  come   back,  that's  certain :   they've  too 


PRIDE   OVERMATCHING   PRIDE.  333 

much  sense  for  that.     Gal  and  hoss  both  !     Well,  I  swear  it's 
a  shame." 

After  much  consideration,  it  had  been  decided  that  Warring- 
ton should  be  closed  for  a  year;  that  Lily  should  go  to  a 
Northern  city  to  pursue  certain  studies  for  which  she  had 
developed  a  peculiar  aptitude  ;  and  that  her  mother  should 
accompany  her.  Colonel  Servosse  proposed  to  pass  a  portion 
of  the  time  with  them,  and  to  devote  the  rest  to  certain  busi- 
ness matters  which  would  necessarily  require  his  absence  dur- 
ing a  considerable  portion  of  the  year.  The  next  summer  it 
was  proposed  to  spend  a  couple  of  months  at  AVarrington,  and 
then  leave  it,  — perhaps  for  good,  at  least  for  a  prolonged 
absence. 

It  was  at  Lily's  special  request  that  this  return  to  Warring- 
ton had  been  made  a  part  of  the  family  programme.  While 
she  had  not  once  faltered  in  the  resolution  she  had  formed, 
she  looked  confidently  for  the  time  to  come  when  General  Gur- 
ney  should  relent.  She  did  not  for  a  moment  distrust  the 
constancy  of  her  banished  lover,  and  hardly  repined  at  the 
fate  which  separated  them,  so  confident  was  she  that  he  w^ould 
return.  In  the  mean  time  she  applied  herself  with  still  greater 
zest  to  study,  counting  every  acquisition  which  she  made  as 
one  more  attraction  which  she  would  be  able  to  offer  Melville 
Gurney  in  compensation  for  his  long  probation.  The  autumn 
leaves  were  falling  when  the  Fool  and  his  family  bade  adieu 
to  their  Southern  home. 

A  week  afterwards  Marion  Gurney  rode  up  to  the  gate,  and, 
hailing  the  deserted  house,  was  told  by  the  faithful  Andy,  who 
with  his  wife  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the  house  and  grounds, 
that  "de  Kunnel  an'  all  de  folks  had  done  gone  Norf." 

"  When  will  they  return?  "  asked  Gurney. 

"  Wal,  sah,  I  don't  'How  as  ever,"  said  Andy.  "Dey  talks 
'bout  coniin'  back  h'yer  fer  a  little  time  nex  summer;  but  I 
specs  dey'll  be  habbin'  sech  good  times  dar,  an'  fine  so  many 
frens  in  de  Xorf,  dey'll  quite  forgit  dis  pore,  mean  country 
whar  dey's  hed  so  much  to  contend  wid,  an'  jes'  keep  on  stayin' 
dar.     What  makes  me  tink  so  raore'n  all  de  res'  is,  dat  Miss 


334  A    FOOL'S  ERRAXD. 

Lily's  tuk  Young  Lollard.  Ef  dat  boss  bed  only  staid,  I'd 
felt  sure  she  was  comin'  back." 

"  AVell,"  soliloquized  General  Gurney  as  be  rode  homeward, 
"I  reckon  it's  just  as  well.  I  liked  the  girl  mightily,  that's  a 
fact ;  but  she's  a  Yankee,  after  all.  I  wish  Melville  never  bad 
seen  her.  I  bad  made  up  my  mind,  though,  to  eat  bumble  pie, 
and  tell  her  I  withdrew  my  opposition.  I  can't  bear  to  see 
bim  going  round  so  moody  and  solemn,  when  be  used  to  be  so 
bright  and  cheery.  Perhaps,  now  that  she's  gone,  he'll  think 
better  of  it,  and  give  her  up.     I  hope  so,  anyhow. 

•'  Servosse,  too,  wasn't  a  bad  sort  of  a  man.  I  used  to  wish 
I  was  better  acquainted  with  bim,  and  really  suppose  I  ought 
to  have  exerted  myself  to  make  it  homelike  for  bim  here.  '  He 
must  have  bad  a  dull  life  of  it.  But  then  be  was  so  awfully 
radical  in  bis  Xortbern  notions !  He  ought  never  to  have 
come  here,  that's  the  trutb  of  the  matter.  Xobody  can  force 
Northern  ideas  on  the  South.  The  soil  and  climate  don't  take 
to  them  kindly.  It's  like  Xortbern  farming  in  a  piney  old- 
field,  —  looks  well  enough,  but  don't  pay.  I'm  sure  I  w4sh  bim 
well,  and  Miss  Lily  too.  She's  just  the  girl  I'd  like  Melville 
to  marry,  if  she  wasn't  a  Yankee,  and  her  daddy  wasn't  a 
Radical.     I  reckon  he'll  forget  her  now.     I  hope  so,  at  least." 

He  sighed  as  be  rode  on ;  but  his  wish  proved  abortive. 
Melville  Gurney  was  seized  with  a  passion  for  travel  as  soon 
as  he  beard  of  the  begira  from  Warrington ;  and,  strangely 
enough,  bis  footsteps  led  him  to  the  same  city  where  Lily  was 
studying,  with  her  heart  full  of  dreams  of  bis  coming.  More 
than  once,  as  the  months  flew  by,  she  turned  hastily  in  the 
crowded  thoroughfares  with  the  feeling  that  his  eye  was  upon 
her.  A  few  times  she  thought  she  saw  a  familiar  figure  in 
the  crowd ;  and  ber  heart  would  beat  fast  while  her  eye  sought 
to  catch  the  loved  outlines  again.  Then  she  would  go  on  with 
a  light  laugh,  well  pleased  that  her  heart  attested  its  faithful- 
ness by  a  fond  self-deception. 

Melville  soon  became  conscious  of  the  true  state  of  affairs, 
and  determined  not  to  be  outdone  in  steadfastness.  So  be 
made   no   sign,   but  studied   the   great   city   that   opened   its 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   TOGETHER.     335 

myriad-paged  book  of  life  before  him,  and  learned  many  a 
rare  lesson  which  the  insular  exclusiveness  of  the  South  could 
never  teach. 

Thus  the  lovers  waited;  but  the  father,  irritated  at  his  son's 
course,  said,  "  If  he  wants  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  over  that 
little  Yankee,  let  him  go." 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

WISDOM   AXD   FOLLY   MEET    TOGETHER. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  rupture  of  his  home-life  and  his 
departure  from  Warrington,  that  Servosse  visited,  by  special 
invitation.  Doctor  Enos  Martin,  the  ancient  friend  who  had  been 
at  first  his  instructor,  and  afterward  his  revered  and  trusted 
counselor.  In  the  years  which  had  elapsed  since  the  Fool 
had  seen  him,  he  had  passed  from  a  ripe  manhood  of  surpass- 
ing vigor  into  that  riper  age  which  comes  without  weakness, 
but  which,  nevertheless,  brings  not  a  little  of  philosophic  calm, 
—  that  true  "sunset  of  life  which  gives  mystical  lore."  It  is 
in  those  calm  years  which  come  before  the  end,  when  ambition 
is  dead,  and  aspiration  ceases;  when  the  restless  clamor  of  busy 
life  sweeps  by  unheeded  as  the  turmoil  of  the  crowded  thor- 
oughfare by  the  busy  worker;  when  the  judgment  acts  calmly, 
unbiased  by  hope  or  fear, —it  is  in  these  declining  years  that 
the  best  work  of  the  best  lives  is  usually  done.  The  self  which 
makes  the  balance  waver  is  dead ;  but  the  heart,  the  intellect, 
the  keen  sympathy  with  that  world  which  is  fast  slipping 
away,  remain,  and  the  ripened  energies  act  without  the  waste- 
fulness of  passion.  It  was  in  this  calm  brightness  which  pre- 
cedes the  twilight,  that  Enos  ]\Iartin  sat  down  to  converse  with 
the  man,  now  rugged  and  mature,  whom  he  had  watched  while 
he  grew  from  youth  into  manhood,  and  from  early  manhood  to 
its  maturity.     A  score  of  years  had  passed  since  they  had  met. 


336  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

To  the  one,  these  years  had  been  full  of  action.  He  had  been 
in  the  current,  had  breasted  its  buffetings,  and  been  carried 
a^^'ay  out  of  the  course  which  he  had  marked  out  for  himself 
on  life's  great  chart,  by  its  cross-currents  and  counter-eddies. 
He  had  a  scar  to  show  for  every  struggle.  His  heart  had 
throbbed  in  harmony  with  the  great  world-pulse  in  every  one 
of  the  grand  purposes  with  which  it  had  swelled  during  those 
years.  The  other  had  watched  with  keenest  apprehension 
those  movements  which  had  veered  and  whirled  about  in  their 
turbid  currents  the  life  of  the  other,  himself  but  little  moved, 
but  ever  seeking  to  draw  what  lessons  of  value  he  might  from 
such  observation,  for  the  instruction  and  guidance  of  other 
young  souls  who  were  yet  but  skirting  the  shore  of  the  great 
sea  of  life. 

This  constant  and  observant  interest  in  the  great  social 
movements  of  the  world  which  he  overlooked  from  so  serene 
a  height  had  led  him  to  note  with  peculiar  care  the  relations 
of  the  nation  to  the  recently  subjugated  portion  of  the  South, 
and  more  especially  the  conditions  of  the  blacks.  In  so  doing, 
he  had  been  led  to  consider  especially  that  transition  period 
which  comes  between  Chattelism,  or  some  form  of  individual 
subordination  and  dependence,  and  absolute  individual  auton- 
omy. This  is  known  by  different  names  in  different  lands  and 
ages,  —  villenage  in  England,  serfdom  in  Russia.  In  regard  to 
this,  his  inquiries  had  been  most  profound,  and  his  interest 
in  all  those  national  questions  had  accordingly  been  of  the 
liveliest  character :  hence  his  keen  desire  to  see  his  old  pupil, 
and  to  talk  with  one  in  whom  he  had  confidence  as  an  ob- 
server, in  regard  to  the  phenomena  he  had  witnessed  and  the 
conclusions  at  which  he  had  arrived,  and  to  compare  the  same, 
not  only  with  his  own  more  remote  observations,  but  also  with 
the  facts  of  history.  They  sat  together  for  a  long  time  in  the 
library  where  the  elder  had  gathered  the  intellectual  wealth 
of  the  world  and  the  ages,  and  renewed  the  personal  knowl- 
edge of  each  other  which  a  score  of  years  had  interrupted. 
The  happenings  of  the  tumultuous  life,  the  growth  of  the 
quiet  one,  were  both   recounted;  and   then   their  conversation 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   TOGETHER.     337 

drifted  to  that  topic  which  had  engrossed  so  much  of  the 
thought  of  both,  —  that  great  world-current  of  which  both 
lives  were  but  unimportant  incidents. 

"And  so,"  said  the  elder  gravely,  "you  think.  Colonel  Ser- 
vosse,  that  what  has  been  termed  Reconstruction  is  a  magnifi- 
cent failure?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  was  the  reply,  "  so  far  as  concerns  the  at- 
tainment of  the  result  intended  by  its  projectors,  expected  by 
the  world,  and  to  be  looked  for  as  a  logical  sequence  of  the 
war." 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  fully  understand  your  limitation," 
said  Martin  doubtfully. 

"I  mean,"  said  the  younger  man,  "that  Reconstruction  was 
a  failure  so  far  as  it  attemi^ted  to  unify  the  nation,  to  make 
one  people  in  fact  of  what  had  been  one  only  in  name  before 
the  convulsion  of  civil  war.  It  was  a  failure,  too,  so  far  as 
it  attempted  to  fix  and  secure  the  position  and  rights  of  the 
colored  race.  They  were  fixed,  it  is  true,  on  paper,  and 
security  of  a  certain  sort  taken  to  prevent  the  abrogation  of 
that  formal  declaration.  No  guaranty  whatever  was  provided 
against  their  practical  subversion,  which  was  accomplished 
with  an  ease  and  impunity  that  amazed  those  who  instituted 
the  movement." 

"  You  must  at  least  admit  that  the  dogma  of  '  State  Rights ' 
was  settled  by  the  war  and  by  that  system  of  summary  and 
complete  national  control  over  the  erring  commonwealths 
which  we  call  Reconstruction,"  said  Martin. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  answered  Servosse,  "  the  doctrine  of 
'  State  Rights '  is  altogether  unimpaired  and  untouched  by 
what  has  occurred,  except  in  one  particular;  to  wit,  the  rigid  of 
peaceable  secession.  The  war  settled  that.  The  Xation  asserted 
its  right  to  defend  itself  against  disruption." 

"Did  it  not  also  assert  its  right  to  re-create,  to  make  over,  to 
reconstruct  ?"  asked  the  elder  man. 

"  Xot  at  all,"  was  the  reply.  "  Reconstruction  was  never 
asserted  as  a  rigid,  at  least  not  formally  and  authoritatively. 
Some  did  so  affirm ;  but  they  were  accounted  visionaries.     The 


838  A    FOOL'S   ERRAND. 

act  of  reconstruction  was  excused  as  a  necessary  sequence  of  the 
failure  of  attempted  secession :  it  was  never  defended  or  pro- 
mulgated as  a  right  of  the  nation,  even  to  secure  its  own  safeti/." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  qualify  the  declaration  of  failure?  "  asked 
Martin,     '•  It  seems  to  me  to  have  been  absolute  and  complete." 

"Xot  at  all,"  answered  Servosse  with  some  vehemence.  "  A 
great  deal  was  gained  by  it.  Suppose  a  child  does  wrong  a 
hundred  times,  is  reproved  for  it  each  time,  and  only  at  the  last 
reproof  expresses  sorrow,  and  professes  a  desire  to  do  better, 
and  the  very  next  day  repeats  the  offense.  The  parent  does 
not  despair,  nor  count  the  repentance  as  nothing  gained.  On 
the  contrary,  a  great  step  has  been  made :  the  wrong  has  been 
admitted,  and  is  thereafter  without  excuse.  Thenceforward, 
Nathan-like,  the  parent  can  point  the  offender  to  his  own  judg- 
ment on  his  own  act.  So  Reconstruction  was  a  great  step  in 
advance,  in  that  it  formulated  a  confession  of  error.  It  gave 
us  a  construction  of  '  we  the  people '  in  the  preamble  of  our 
Federal  Constitution  which  gave  the  lie  to  that  which  had 
formerly  prevailed.  It  recognized  and  formulated  the  univer- 
sality of  manhood  in  governmental  power,  and,  in  one  phase  or 
another  of  its  development,  compelled  the  formal  assent  of  all 
sections  and  parties." 

"  And  is  this  all  that  has  been  gained  by  all  these  years  of 
toil  and  struggle  and  blood?  "  asked  the  old  man  with  a  sigh. 

"Is  it  not  enough,  my  friend?"  replied  the  Fool,  with  a  re- 
proachful tone.  "Is  not  almost  a  century  of  falsehood  and 
hypocrisy  cheaply  atoned  by  a  decade  of  chastisement?  The 
confession  of  error  is  the  hardest  part  of  repentance,  Avhether  in 
a  man  or  in  a  nation.  It  is  there  the  Devil  always  makes  his 
strongest  fight.  After  that,  he  has  to  come  down  out  of  the 
mountain,  and  fight  in  the  valley.  He  is  wounded,  crippled, 
and  easily  put  to  rout." 

'•You  do  not  regard  the  struggle  between  the  North  and  the 
South  as  ended,  then,"  said  Martin. 

"Ended?"  ejaculated  the  Fool  sharply.  "It  is  just  begun! 
I  do  not  mean  the  physical  tug  of  war  between  definitely  de- 
fined sections.     That  is  a  more  incident  of  a  great  underlying 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   TOGETHER.     3d9 

struggle,  —  a  conflict  which  is  ever  going  on  between  two  antago- 
nistic ideas.  It  was  like  a  stream  with  here  and  there  an 
angry  rapid,  before  the  war;  then,  for  a  time,  it  was  like  a 
foaming  cascade ;  and  since  then  it  has  been  the  sullen,  dark, 
but  deep  and  quiet  whirlpool,  which  lies  below  the  fall,  full 
of  driftwood  and  shadows,  and  angry  mutterings,  and  unseen 
currents,  and  hidden  forces,  whose  farther  course  no  one  can 
foretell,  only  that  it  must  go  on. 

'  The  deepest  ice  that  ever  froze 
Can  only  o'er  the  river  close: 
The  living  stream  lies  quick  below, 
And  flows  —  and  can  not  cease  to  flow! '  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  old  battle  between  freedom 
and  slavery  was  not  ended  by  the  extinction  of  slavery?  "  asked 
the  doctor  in  surprise, 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be,"  answ^ered  the  Fool,  with  a  hint  of 
laughter  in  his  tones,  '•  if  slavery  were  extinct.  I  do  not  mean 
to  combat  the  old  adage  that  '  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel ; ' 
but  that  is  just  where  our  mistake  —  the  mistake  of  the  North, 
for  the  South  has  not  made  one  in  this  matter  —  has  been. 
"We  have  assumed  that  slavery  was  dead,  because  we  had  a  Proc- 
lamation of  Emancipation,  a  Constitutional  Amendment,  and 
'  laws  passed  in  pursuance  thereof,'  all  reciting  the  fact  that 
involuntary  servitude,  except  for  crime,  should  no  more  exist. 
Thereupon,  we  have  thrown  up  our  hats,  and  crowed  lustily  for 
what  we  had  achieved,  as  we  had  a  good  right  to  do.  The 
Antislavery  Society  met,  and  congratulated  itself  on  the  accom 
plishment  of  its  mission,  on  having  no  more  worlds  to  conquer, 
no  more  oppression  to  resist,  and  no  more  victims  to  succor. 
And  thereupon,  in  the  odor  of  its  self-laudation,  it  dissolved  its 
own  existence,  dying  full  of  good  works,  and  simply  for  the 
want  of  more  good  works  to  be  done.  It  was  an  end  that 
smacks  of  the  millennium ;  but,  unfortunately,  it  was  farcical 
in  the  extreme.  I  don't  blame  Garrison  and  Phillips  and  your- 
self, and  all  the  others  of  the  old  guard  of  abolitionists.  It 
was  natural  that  you  should  at  least  wish  to  try  on  your  laurels 
while  alive." 


340  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

"Really,  Colonel,"  said  the  old  doctor  laughingly,  "you  must 
not  think  that  was  our  motive." 

"Xot  confessedly,  nor  consciously  of  course,"  said  the  Fool, 
•*E,eal  motives  are  rarely  formulated.  I  don't  wonder,  though, 
that  men  who  had  been  in  what  our  modern  slang  denominates 
the  'racket'  of  the  antislavery  reform  should  be  tired.  I 
fully  realize  that  a  life-time  of  struggle  takes  away  a  man's 
relish  for  a  fight.  Old  men  never  become  missionaries.  Being 
in  a  conflict  of  ideas,  they  may  keep  up  the  fight  till  the  last 
minute  and  the  last  breath.  Old  men  have  made  good  martyrs 
ever  since  Polycarp's  day;  but  they  don't  long  for  martyrdom, 
nor  advertise  for  it.  If  it  is  just  as  convenient  to  avoid  it,  they 
prefer  to  do  so ;  and  in  this  case  they  certainly  deserved  a  rest, 
and  more  honor  and  glory  than  they  will  ever  get,  alive  or  dead. 

"It  was  our  fault,  —  the  then  youngsters  who  had  just  come 
out  of  the  furnace-fire  in  which  the  shackles  were  fused  and 
melted  away  from  the  cramped  and  shriveled  limbs.  We 
ought  to  have  seen  and  known  that  only  the  shell  was- gone. 
Slavery  as  a  formal  state  of  society  was  at  an  end:  as 
a  force,  a  power,  a  moral  element,  it  was  just  as  active  as 
before.  Its  conscious  evils  were  obliterated :  its  unconscious 
ones  existed  in  the  dwarfed  and  twisted  natures  which  had 
been  subjected  for  generations  to  its  influences,  —  master  and 
slave  alike.  As  a  form  of  society,  it  could  be  abolished  by 
proclamation  and  enactment :  as  a  moral  entity,  it  is  as  inde- 
structible as  the  souls  on  which  it  has  left  its  mark." 

"You  think  the  'irrepressible  conflict'  is  yet  confronting  us, 
then?"  said  Martin. 

"Undoubtedly.  The  North  and  the  South  are  simply  con- 
venient names  for  two  distinct,  hostile,  and  irreconcilable 
ideas,  —  two  civilizations  they  are  sometimes  called,  especially 
at  the  South.  At  the  North  there  is  somewhat  more  of  intel- 
lectual arrogance ;  and  we  are  apt  to  speak  of  the  one  as  civili- 
zation, and  of  the  other  as  a  species  of  barbarism.  These  two 
must  always  be  in  conflict  until  the  one  prevails,  and  the  other 
falls.  To  uproot  the  one,  and  plant  the  other  in  its  stead,  is 
not  the  work  of  a  moment  or  a  day.     That  was  our  mistake. 


wrsDO^^  and  folly  meet  together.    341 

We  tried  to  superimpose  the  civilization,  the  idea  of  the  North, 
upon  the  South  at  a  moment's  warning-.  We  presumed,  that, 
by  the  suppression  of  rebellion,  the  Southern  white  man  had 
become  identical  with  the  Caucasian  of  the  North  in  thought 
and  sentiment;  and  that  the  slave,  by  emancipation,  had 
become  a  saint  and  a  Solomon  at  once.  So  we  tried  to  build 
up  communities  there  which  should  be  identical  in  thought, 
sentiment,  growth,  and  development,  with  those  of  the  North. 
It  was  A  Fool's  Errand." 

"  On  which  we  all  ran,  eh?  "  laughed  the  doctor. 

"  Precisely,"  answered  Servosse  sententiously. 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  you  are  right,"  said  the  elder.  "  It  looks 
like  it  now,  and  every  thing  which  has  happened  is  certainly 
consistent  with  your  view.  But,  leaving  the  past,  what  have 
you  to  say  of  the  future  ?  " 

"Well,"  answered  Servossa  thoughtfully,  "the  battle  must 
be  fought  out.  If  there  is  to  remain  one  nation  on  the  terri- 
tory we  now  occupy,  it  must  be  either  a  nation  unified  in  senti- 
ment and  civilization,  or  the  one  civilization  must  dominate 
and  control  the  other.  As  i*  stands  now,  that  of  the  South  is 
the  most  intense,  vigorous,  and  aggressive.  The  power  of  the 
recent  slave  has  been  absolutely  neutralized.  Thq  power  of 
the  Southern  whites  has  been  increased  by  exactly  two-fifths 
of  the  colored  adults,  who  were  not  counted  in  representation 
before  the  war.  Upon 'all  questions  touching  the  nation  and 
its  future  they  are  practically  a  unit,  and  are  daily  growing 
more  and  more  united  as  those  who  once  stood  with  us  suc- 
cumb to  age  or  the  force  of  their  surroundings." 

"  But  will  not  that  change  with  immigration?  Will  not  the 
two  sections  gradually  mix  and  modify?"  asked  the  doctor 
anxiously. 

"  Immigration  to  the  South  will  in  the  future,  as  in  the  past, 
be  very  scattering  and  trivial,  hardly  an  element  worth  consid- 
ering. There  are  many  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first  place, 
the  South  does  not  welcome  immigration.  Not  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely hostile,  nor  intolerant  beyond  endurance,  except  upon 
political  subjects;  but  it  has  been  exclusive  until  it  has  lost  the 


342  A   FOOUS  ERRAXD. 

power  of  assimilation ;  and  the  immigrant  never  becomes  part 
and  parcel  of  the  people  with  whom  he  dwells.  His  children 
may  do  so  sometimes,  but  not  always.  The  West  takes  a 
stranger  by  the  hand,  and  in  a  day  makes  him  feel  at  home,  — 
that  he  is  of  the  people  with  whom  he  dwells.  The  South 
may  greet  him  as  cordially  as  the  Orient  welcomes  the  Cau- 
casian trader,  but,  like  the  Orient,  still  makes  him  feel  that 
he  is  an  '  outside  barbarian.'  Besides  that,  the  South  has  no 
need  for  mere  labor,  and  the  material  success  of  those  who  have 
gone  there  since  the  war  has  not  been  such  as  to  induce  many 
others  to  follow." 

"  But  why  do  you  think  the  South  more  likely  to  rule  than 
the  more  populous  and  more  enterprising  North  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  thoroughly  united,  and  are  instinctive, 
natural  rulers.  They  are  not  troubled  with  scruples,  nor  do 
they  waste  their  energies  upon  frivolous  and  immaterial  issues. 
They  are  monarchical  and  kinglike  in  their  characteristics. 
Each  one  thinks  more  of  the  South  than  of  himself,  and  any 
thing  which  adds  to  her  prestige  or  glory  is  dearer  to  him  than 
any  personal  advantage.  The  North  thinks  the  Southern 
people  are  especially  angry  because  of  the  loss  of  slave-property: 
in  truth,  they  are  a  thousand  times  more  exasperated  by  the 
elevation  of  the  freed  negro  to  equal  political  power.  The 
North  is  disunited :  a  part  will  adhere  to  the  South  for  the 
sake  of  power;  and.  just  as  before  the  civil  war,  the  South  will 
again  dominate  and  control  the  nation." 

"  And  when  will  this  end  ?  "  asked  the  elder  man,  with  a  sigh 
of  weariness. 

"When  the  North  learns  to  consider  facts,  and  not  to  senti- 
mentalize ;  or  when  the  South  shall  have  worked  out  the  prob- 
lem  of  race-conflict  in  her  own  borders,  by  the  expiration  or 
explosion  of  a  system  of  unauthorized  and  illegal  serfdom. 
The  lords  of  the  soil  are  the  lords  of  the  labor  still,  and  will 
so  remain  until  the  laborers  have  grown,  through  the  lapse  of 
generations,  either  intelligent  or  desperate." 

"  Ah  !  my  young  friend,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  glow  of 
pride  in  his  countenance,  "there  you   are   coming   upon  my 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   TOGETHER.     343 

ground,  and,  I  must  say,  striking  at  my  fears  for  the  future  too. 
The  state  of  the  newly-enfranchised  freedmen  at  the  South  is 
most  anomalous  and  remarkable.  I  can  not  help  regarding  it 
with  apprehension.  There  are  but  few  cases  in  history  of  an 
enslaved  race  leaping  at  once  from  absolute  chattelism  to  com- 
plete self-rule.  Perhaps  the  case  of  the  ancient  Israelites 
affords  the  closest  analogy.  Yet  in  their  case,  under  divine 
guidance,  two  things  were  found  necessary  :  First,  an  exodus 
which  took  them  out  from  among  the  race  which  had  been 
their  masters,  away  from  the  scenes  and  surroundings  of 
slavery;  and,  second,  the  growth  of  a  new  generation  who  had 
never  known  the  lash  of  the  task-master,  nor  felt  in  their  own 
persons  the  degradation  of  servitude.  The  flight  from  Egypt, 
the  hardships  of  the  wilderness,  the  forty  years  of  death  and 
growth  away  from  and  beyond  the  ken  of  the  Egyptian,  all 
were  necessary  to  fit  the  children  of  Israel  for  self-government 
and  the  exercise  of  national  power,  even  without  the  direct  and 
immediate  interposition  of  divine  aid  and  the  daily  recurrence 
of  miraculous  signs  and  wonders.  Can  the  African  slave  of 
America  develop  into  the, self-governing  citizen,  the  co-ordi- 
nate of  his  white  brother  in  power,  with  less  of  preparation?  " 

"  The  analogy  of  the  Israelitish  people  is  so  striking,  that  it 
seems  to  recur  to  almost  every  mind,"  said  Servosse.  "It  is  a 
favorite  one  with  the  colored  people  themselves.  The  only 
important  difference  which  I  can  see  is  the  lack  of  a  religious 
element,  —  the  want  of  a  prophet." 

"That  is  the  very  thing!  "  said  the  old  Doctor,  with  anima- 
tion. "Do  you  know  that  I  doubt  very  much  whether  there 
was  any  special  religious  element  in  the  minds  of  the  Jewish 
people  at  that  time?  They  did  not  leave  Egypt,  nor  venture 
into  the  wilderness,  because  of  religious  persecution,  or  attach- 
ment to  their  faith.  Those  were  things  which  came  after- 
wards, both  in  point  of  time  and  in  the  sequence  of  their 
growth  and  development.  It  was  to  the  feeling  of  servitude, 
the  idea  of  oppression,  that  the  twin-founders  of  the  Judaic 
empire,  Moses  and  Aaron,  appealed,  in  order  to  carry  their 
religious  idea  into  effect.     The  Israelites  followed  them,  not 


344  A    FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

because  they  were  their  religious  leaders,  but  because  they 
promised  relief  from  Egyptian  bondage.  The  instinct  of  the 
slave  is  to  flee  from  the  scene  of  servitude  v^'hen  his  soul 
begins  to  expand  with  the  aspirations  of  independent  manhood. 
That  this  spirit  has  not  manifested  itself  before,  in  our  case, 
I  think  a  matter  of  surprise :  that  it  will  come  hereafter,  I 
fear  is  a  certainty.  I  can  not  see  how  a  race  can  become  pre- 
pared for  absolute  autonomy,  real  freedom,  except  by  the 
gradual  process  of  serfdom  or  villenage,  or  by  the  scath  and 
tribulation  of  the  sojourn  in  the  wilderness,  or  its  equivalent  of 
isolated  self-support,  by  which  individual  self-reliance,  and  col- 
lective hardihood  and  daring,  may  be  nourished  and  confirmed." 

"  They  are  likely  to  have  their  forty  years,"  said  Servosse, 
"and  to  leave  more  than  one  generation  in  the  wilderness, 
before  they  regain  the  rights  which  were  promised  them,  and 
which  they  for  a  little  time  enjoyed." 

"Yes,"  said  the  elder,  "there  is  another  dangerous  element. 
They  have  tasted  liberty,  full  and  complete;  and  the  loss  of 
that,  even  by  indirection,  will  add  to  the  natural  antipathy  of 
the  freedman  for  the  associations  and  surroundings  of  his 
servitude.  I  very  greatly^ fear  that  this  unrest  is  inseparable 
from  the  state  of  suddenly-acquired  freedom;  and  that,  ani- 
mated by  both  these  feelings,  the  race  may  attempt  an  exodus 
M-hich  will  yet  upset  all  our  finely-spun  theories,  and  test,  at 
our  very  doors,  the  humanitarianism  of  which  we  boast.  What 
do  you  think  of  it.  Colonel?  " 

"  Honestly,  Doctor,  I  can  not  tell  you,"  answered  Servosse. 
"  That  such  a  feeling  exists  is  beyond  question.  There  is 
something  marvelous  and  mysterious  in  the  history  of  thi^ 
African  race  in  America,  too,  which  appeals  most  powerfully 
to  the  superstitious  mysticism  which  prevails  among  them. 
Brought  here  against  their  will ;  forced  to  undergo  the  harsh 
tutelage  of  slavery  in  sight  and  sound  of  the  ceaseless  service 
our  nation  ofPers  up  to  liberty;  mastering  in  two  hundred 
years  of  slavery  the  rudiments  of  civilization,  the  alphabet  of 
religion,  of  law,  of  mechanic  art,  the  secrets  of  husbandry,  and 
the  necessity  and  reward  of  labor;  freed  almost  without  exer- 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   TOO'ETHER.     345 

tion  upon  their  part,  and  entirely  without  their  independent 
and  intelligent  co-operation,  —  with  all  this  of  history  before 
their  eyes,  it  is  not  strange  tliey  should  consider  themselves 
the  special  pets  of  Providence,  —  a  sort  of  chosen  people.  This 
chapter  of  miracles,  as  they  account  these  wonderful  happen- 
ings, is  always  present  to  the  fervid  fancies  of  the  race ;  and, 
while  it  has  hitherto  inclined  them  to  inaction,  would  be  a 
powerful  motive,  should  it  once  come,  to  act  in  concert  with  a 
conviction  that  their  future  must  be  laid  in  a  region  remote 
from  the  scene  of  their  past.  If  they  were  of  the  same  stock  as 
the  dominant  race,  there  might  be  a  chance  for  the  line  of  sepa- 
tion  to  disappear  with  the  lapse  of  time.  Marked  as  they  are 
by  a  different  complexion,  and  one  which  has  long  been 
accounted  menial  and  debased,  there  is  no  little  of  truth  in  the 
sad  refrain  of  their  universal  story,  '  Xiggers  never  can  have  a 
•white  man's  chance  here.'" 

"  But  what  can  be  done  for  their  elevation  and  relief,  or  to 
prevent  the  establishment  of  a  mediaeval  barbarism  in  our 
midst?  "  asked  the  doctor  anxiously. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  said  the  Fool  jocosely,  "that  question  is  for 
some  one  else  to  answer,  and  it  must  be  answered  in  deeds,  too, 
and  not  in  words.  I  have  given  the  years  of  my  manhood  to 
the  consideration  of  these  questions,  and  am  accounted  a  fool 
in  consequence.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  cure  for  these  evils  is 
in  a  nutshell.  The  remedy,  however,  is  one  that  must  be 
applied  from  the  outside.  The  sick  man  can  not  cure  himself. 
The  South  will  never  purge  itself  of  the  evils  which  affect  it. 
Its  intellect,  its  pride,  its  wealth,  in  short,  its  power,  is  all 
arrayed  against  even  the  slow  and  tedious  development  which 
time  and  semi-barbarism  would  bring.  Hour  by  hour,  the 
chains  will  be  riveted  closer.  Look  at  the  history  of  slavery  in 
v,ur  land!  See  how  the  law-makers,  the  courts,  public  senti- 
ment, and  all  the  power  of  the  land,  grew  year  by  year  more 
harsh  and  oppressive  on  the  slave  and  his  congener,  the  'free 
person  of  color,'  in  all  the  slave  States  I  I  see  you  remember  it, 
old  friend.  In  direct  conflict  with  all  the  predictions  of  states- 
men, the  thumb-screws   of   oppression  were  given  a  new  and 


346  A   FOOUS   ERRAXD. 

sharper  turn  with  every  passing  year.  The  vestiges  of  liberty 
and  right  were  shred  away  by  legislative  enactment,  and  the 
looi3-holes  of  mercy  closed  by  judicial  construction,  until  only 
the  black  gulf  of  hopeless  servitude  remained.'' 

"  I  see  the  prospect,  and  admit  the  truth  of  your  prevision ; 
but  I  do  not  get  your  idea  of  a  remedy,"  said  the  elder  man 
doubtfully. 

"  Well,  you  see  that  the  remedy  is  not  from  within,"  said 
the  Fool.  "  The  minority  knows  its  power,  and  the  majority 
realizes  its  weakness  so  keenly  as  to  render  that  impossible. 
That  which  has  made  bulldozing  possible  renders  progress  im- 
possible. Then  it  seems  to  me  that  the  question  is  already 
answered,  —  It  must  he  from  iciiJiout ! " 

"But  how?"  queried  the  old  man  impatiently. 

"  How  ?  "  said  the  Fool.  "  I  am  amazed  that  j^ou  do  not  see ; 
that  the  country  will  not  see ;  or  rather,  that,  seeing,  they  will 
let  the  ghost  of  a  dogma,  which  rivers  of  blood  have  been  shed 
to  lay,  frighten  them  from  adopting  the  course  which  lies  before 
us,  broad  and  plain  as  the  king's  highway:  The  remechj  for 
darkness  is  Ugfd ;  for  ignorance,  knowledge ;  for  wrong,  righteous- 
ness." 

"True  enough  as  an  abstraction,  my  friend;  but  how  shall  it 
be  reduced  to  practice?  "  queried  his  listener. 

"  The  Xation  nourished  and  protected  slavery.  The  fruitage 
of  slavery  has  been  the  ignorant  freedman,  the  ignorant  poor- 
white  man.  and  the  arrogant  master.  The  impotence  of  the 
freedman.  the  ignorance  of  the  poor- white,  the  arrogance  of  the 
late  m.aster,  are  all  the  result  of  national  power  exercised  in 
restraint  of  free  thought,  free  labor,  and  free  speech.  Now,  let 
the  Nation  undo  the  evil  it  has  permitted  and  encouraged.  Let 
it  educate  those  whom  it  made  ignorant,  and  protect  those 
whom  it  made  weak.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  favor  to  the  black, 
but  of  safety  to  the  Xation.  Make  the  spelling-book  the 
scepter  of  national  power.  Let  the  Xation  e.ducate  the  colored 
man  and  the  poor-white  man  because  the  Xation  held  them  in 
bondage,  and  is  responsible  for  their  education;  educate  the 
Toter  because  the  Xation  can  not  afford  that  he  should  be  ig- 


WISDOM  AND  FOLLY  MEET   rOGETIIER.     347 

iiorant.  Do  not  try  to  shuffle  off  the  responsibility,  nor  cloak 
the  danger.  Honest  ignorance  in  the  masses  is  more  to  be 
dreaded  than  malevolent  intelligence  in  the  few.  It  furnished 
the  rank  and  file  of  rebellion  and  the  prejudice-blinded  multi- 
tudes who  made  the  Policy  of  Repression  effectual.  Poor- 
Whites,  Freedmen,  Ku-Klux,  and  Bulldozers  are  all  alike  the 
harvest  of  ignorance.  The  Nation  can  not  afford  to  grow  sucli 
a  crop." 

''But  how,"  asked  the  doctor,  "shall  these  citizens  of  the 
States  be  educated  by  the  Government  without  infringement  of 
the  rights  of  the  States?  " 

"  Ah,  my  good  old  friend!"  said  Servosse,  rising,  and  placing 
a  hand  upon  the  other's  shoulder,  "I  will  leave  you,  now  that 
you  have  brought  out  for  me  to  worship  that  Juggernaut  of 
American  politics  by  which  so  many  hecatombs  have  been 
crushed  and  mangled.  This  demon  required  a  million  lives 
before  he  would  permit  slavery  to  be  abolished:  perhaps  as 
many  more  would  induce  him  to  let  the  fettered  souls  be 
unbound  and  made  free." 

"  You  are  bitter,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  rising  also,  and 
looking  into  his  companion's  eyes  with  a  glance  of  calm 
reproof.  "  Do  not  indulge  that  spirit.  Be  patient,  and  remem- 
ber that  you  would  have  felt  just  as  we  of  your  native  North 
now  feel,  but  for  the  glare  of  slumbering  revolution  in  which 
you  have  lived.  The  man  who  has  been  in  the  crater  ought 
not  to  wonder  at  his  calmness  who  has  only  seen  the  smoke.  I 
have  often  thought  that  St.  Paul  would  have  been  more  for- 
bearing with  his  Jewish  brethren  if  he  had  always  kept  in 
mind  the  miracle  required  for  his  own  conversion." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  Doctor,"  said  the  Fool;  "  but  ought 
not  something  also  be  allowed  to  the  zeal  of  the  poor  old  Jonah 
who  disturbed  the  slumbers  of  Nineveh?  At  any  rate,  I  leave 
your  question  for  the  Wise  Men  to  answer.  I  will  only  say 
two  words  about  it.  The  South — that  p^^ewlo  South  which 
has  the  power  —  does  not  wish  this  thing  to  be  done  to  her  peo- 
ple, and  will  oppose  it  with  might  and  main.  If  done  at  all,  it 
must  be  done  by  the  North  —  by  the  Nation  moved,  instigated, 


348  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

and  controlled  by  the  North,  I  mean  —  in  its  own  self-defense. 
It  must  be  an  act  of  sovereignty,  an  exercise  of  power.  The 
Nation  expected  the  liberated  slave  to  be  an  ally  of  freedom. 
It  was  altogether  right  and  proper  that  it  should  desire  and 
expect  this.  But  it  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  expecting  the 
freedman  to  do  successful  battle  on  his  part  of  the  line,  with- 
out training  or  knowledge.  This  mistake  must  be  remedied. 
As  to  the  means,  I  feel  sure  that  when  the  Nation  has  smarted 
enough  for  its  folly,  it  will  find  a  way  to  undo  the  evil,  whether 
the  State-Rights  Moloch  stand  in  the  way,  or  not. " 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

HOME    AT    LAST. 

The  year  had  nearly  passed;  and  Comfort  Servosse  re- 
turned to  Warrington  a  little  in  advance  of  the  time  set  for 
his  family  to  come,  in  order  to  see  that  the  place  was  duly 
prepared  for  their  reception. 

He  had  been  engaged  by  a  company  of  capitalists  to  take 
charge  of  their  interests  in  one  of  the  republics  of  Central 
America.  The  work  was  of  the  most  important  character,  not 
onl)'-  to  the  parties  having  a  pecuniary  interest  therein,  but  also 
as  having  a  weighty  bearing  upon  that  strange  contest  be- 
tween civilization  and  semi-barbarism  which  is  constantly  being 
waged  in  that  wonderfully  strange  region,  where  Nature  seems 
to  have  set  her  subtlest  forces  in  battle-array  against  what,  in 
these  modern  times,  is  denominated  "progress."  While  the 
earth  produces  in  an  abundance  unknown  to  other  regions, 
the  mind  seems  stricken  with  irresistible  lassitude,  and  only 
the  monitions  of  sense  seem  able  to  awaken  the  body  from 
lethargic  slumber. 

The  struggle  suited  his  adventurous  nature,  and  the  enter- 
prise afforded  scope  for  his  powers  of  projection  and  organiza- 


HOME  AT  LAST.  349 

tion.  He  had  returned  only  to  fulfill  the  family  compact,  and 
meant,  when  the  months  of  respite  were  over,  to  take  back  his 
household  to  a  mountain  villa  in  that  land  of  the  sun  where 
the  delights  of  nature  are  so  sweetly  blended,  and  incessantlj 
varied,  and  its  extremes  so  tempered  by  the  concurring  in- 
fluences of  wind  and  wave  and  mountain-heights,  that  the 
traveler  wonders  if  the  Fountain  of  Youth  and  the  Aiden  of 
sinless  bliss  are  not  yet  to  be  found  amid  its  enchantments. 

On  his  return,  he  had  to  pass  through  that  belt  in  the  South- 
ern States,  where  science  is  periodically  called  upon  to  wage 
unsuccessful  warfare  with  that  most  inscrutable  form  of  dis- 
ease, that  plague,  which  mocks  at  human  skill.  Two  or  three, 
upon  whose  brows  the  fell  destroyer  had  already  set  his  brazen 
seal,  had  been  taken  from  the  very  train  which  brought  him 
northward  towards  Warrington.  He  had  wondered  at  the 
mystery  before  which  science  is  as  powerless  as  superstition, 
as  he  saw  them  borne  from  the  train,  which  sped  on  its  hurried 
way  as  if  fleeing  from  the  pestilence.  He  had  seen,  wondered, 
and  swept  on,  thinking  no  more  of  the  strange,  sad  fact  of 
inexplicable  doom. 

It  was  the  second  morning  after  his  return  to  Warrington. 
The  day  before,  oppressed  with  the  lassitude  which  always 
follows  a  long  journey,  he  had  wandered  aimlessly  about  the 
familiar  grounds.  The  colored  people  had  gathered  to  wel- 
come him,  asking  and  answering  a  thousand  interrogatories. 
In  little  groups  of  four  and  five  they  had  dropped  in  on  the 
way  to  church  (for  it  was  the  Sabbath)  and  on  their  return. 
All  day  long  he  had  been  repeatedly  called  on  to  rack  his 
memory  in  order  to  recognize  some  once  familiar  face.  Andy 
and  his  good  wife  were  in  a  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  Old 
Lollard  had  recognized  his  master's  whistle,  and  stiff  with  age, 
and  almost  blind,  had  followed  him  with  sad  pertinacity 
from  place  to  place  in  the  grounds.  The  house,  the  library, 
the  lawn,  were  alive  with  pleasant  memories  of  the  loved  ones 
whom  he  was  soon  to  meet.  His  old  neighbors  dropped  in  : 
Eyebright  and  Nelson;  John  Burleson,  still  clamorous  and 
insubordinate;   the   irrepressible   Vaughn,  still  vaporing  and 


350  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

effusive,  but  kindly  flavored  at  the  core  ;  Durfee  and  Dawson, 
and  a  hundred  more,  —  came  to  shake  his  hand,  and  chat  of 
that  past  which  was  full  of  the  shades  of  others  whom  they 
would  greet  no  more,  and  waken  memories  of  those  days  when 
his  heart-strings  were  bound  so  close  around  a  grand  idea, 
M'hich  had  yielded,  as  it  seemed,  only  a  Sodom-like  fruitage  of 
ashen  words. 

The  night  had  found  him  sad  and  weary,  his  heart  full  of 
grateful  tears  for  the  pleasant  greetings  he  had  received,  and 
fuller  yet  of  tenderer  tears  for  those  whose  greetings  he  had 
missed.  He  longed  more  than  ever  for  the  coming  of  his 
loved  ones,  and  for  the  lapse  of  the  brief  period  allotted  for 
his  stay  amid  the  old  familiar  scenes.  It  was  no  longer  home, 
but  only  the  sepulcher  of  a  dead  past,  whose  joys  had  flitted 
with  its  sorrows,  and  brought  but  the  sadness  of  the  grave 
into  his  heart  as  they  swept  by  in  the  funereal  ghastliness  of 
shadowy  unreality. 

When  he  woke  in  the  morning,  he  felt  a  lethargic  sensation, 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  throw  off.  There  were  dull,  heavy 
pains  about  the  head,  too,  and  sharp,  shooting  ones  here  and 
there  in  chest  and  limb.  His  feet  dragged  wearily.  There 
was  a  burning  sensation  somewhere,  he  could  not  tell  exactly 
where.  He  thought  he  would  try  a  bath,  and  Andy  prepared 
him  one,  —  a  great  tub  of  the  sparkling  spring-water  which 
used  to  be  so  grateful  to  his  weary  limbs,  —  ages  ago,  it  seemed. 
He  only  dabbled  in  it  with  his  hands  and  feet :  the  sun-bur- 
nished wavelets  seemed  full  of  barbed  arrows  to  his  strangely 
fevered  flesh.  When  he  dozed  a  little,  the  air  seemed  full  of 
bright  scintillating  sparks. 

Andy  called  in  Dr.  Gates,  who  happened  to  be  passing. 

"  Good-morning,  Colonel !  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  cheer- 
ful-minded physician,  whose  hair  and  beard  Time  had  suc- 
ceeded in  bleaching,  but  whose  rotund  form,  keen  eye,  and 
bounding  heart  seemed  to  bid  him  an  unceasing  defiance. 
"  Got  you  down  at  last,  eh?"  he  continued  jocularly.  *'  I  was 
afraid  I  should  never  get  a  chance  at  you.  That  constitution 
of  yours  is  magnificent.     Used  to  think  you  were  made  of 


HOME  AT  LAST.  351 

whip-cord.     Been  to  Central  America,  eh  ?     Going  back  there  ? 
And  Miss  Lily  and  the  Madam  —  v\  here  are  they  ?  " 

Servosse  answered  dully  and  wearily.  The  doctor  watched 
him  keenly. 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse,  please." 

"Ah!  a  little  feverish  —  considerably  so.  Bilious?  No? 
Let  me  see  your  tongue.     That  will  do.     Where's  that  boy?  "' 

The  doctor  went  out  upon  the  porch,  and  called,  "  Andy  !  0 
Andy !  come  here ! "  When  the  boy  came,  he  asked  him  a 
great  many  questions.  Then  he  went  back,  and  examined  his 
patient  again  very  carefully.  Then  he  recalled  Andy,  and 
said  to  him,  — 

"  Andy,  you  think  a  good  deal  of  the  Colonel,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  did,  sir !  JSIore'n  ub  anybody  else  I  ebber 
seed." 

"  Enough  to  stand  by  him,  even  at  the  risk  of  your  life?  " 

Andy  looked  around  at  the  bright  sunshine,  and  thought  of 
the  wife,  and  three  ebon-hued  children  who  were  sprawling 
about  the  kitchen. 

"  Because,  if  you  don't,"  said  the  doctor,  who  had  watched 
him  keenly,  "  I  must  get  some  one  else." 

That  settled  it. 

"Nobody  else  ain't  gwine  ter  nuss  de  kunnel,  dat's  shore!" 
he  said  with  emphasis.     "  I'll  do  it." 

"The  Colonel  is  going  to  be  mighty  sick,  Andy,  and  the 
disease  may  be  contagious,  — catching,  you  know.  I  don't 
think  there's  very  much  danger;  but  he's  got  to  have  some  one 
to  stay  right  by  him  all  the  time." 

"  All  right.  Doctor,  I'll  do  it,"  said  the  colored  man  promptly. 

"  Very  well,  Andy,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I'll  get  some  one  to 
help  you :  but  you  must  always  be  here ;  you  mustn't  leave  the 
house.  A  heap  depends  on  the  nursing  he  gets,  and  you  know 
there's  none  of  his  own  folks  here  to  take  care  of  him." 

"Xebberyou  mind.  Doctor,"  said  Andy,  "Kunnel  Servosse 
won't  have  no  lack  ub  'tention  while  dar's  a  colored  man  lives 
dat  ebber  seed  his  face.     I  can  git  plenty  ub  'em  to  help  me." 

"But  you  must  not  leave  the  house." 


352  A   FOOUS  ERRAND. 

" Don't  want  to.     They'll  come  here." 

"  All  right.  I  shall  be  out  two  or  three  times  a  day  till  it's 
over.  Go  and  tell  your  wife ;  bid  her  not  to  trouble  you,  nor 
be  alarmed." 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid  fer  her,  Doctor,"  said  Andy  stoutly: 
*'  she'd  go  jes'  as  fur  ez  I  would  ter  sarve  de  Kunnel." 

The  colored  man  did  as  directed,  and,  returning  to  the  room 
where  Servosse  lay,  received  minute  directions  as  to  his  care. 
"While  the  doctor  was  engaged  in  giving  these,  Servosse  roused 
himself  from  the  stupor  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  listened 
to  the  conversation  between  his  physician  and  his  nurse. 

"You  think  me  pretty  sick,  Doctor?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Pretty  sick,"  answered  the  doctor  sententiously,  as  he  went 
on  putting  up  his  prescription. 

"  Very  sick,  perhaps.  Doctor  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,  very  sick,  Colonel." 

"  "What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  have  some  fever,  you  know." 

"  You  are  trying  to  deceive  me,  Doctor,"  said  the  patient. 
"  Don.'t  do  it.  I  have  heard  and  noted  enough  of  what  you  have 
done  and  said  since  you  have  been  here,  to  know  that  you  con- 
sider the  case  a  very  serious  one.  Let  me  know  now  just  how 
serious." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you  needlessly,  and  the  disease  has 
not  yet  developed  so  that  I  can  speak  with  certainty,"  replied 
the  doctor. 

"You  are  still  evasive,  Doctor,"  said  Servosse.  "Well,  then, 
let  me  tell  you  what  I  think  is  your  opinion.  You  think  I  have 
the  yellow-fever." 

"I  can  not  deny.  Colonel,  that  I  have  such  a  suspicion. 
You  have  just  come  through  the  infected  belt,  and  your  symp- 
toms certainly  do  point  that  way.  But  then  we  are  very  often 
mistaken  in  those  things.  The  symptoms  of  yellow-fever  are 
not  at  first  suflBciently  distinctive  to  enable  a  physician  who 
has  not  recently  met  it  to  pronounce  with  certainty  in  regard 
to  it.  Kow,  I  haven't  seen  a  case  of  yellow-fever  in  —  let  me 
see  —  twenty  years  and  better.     And,  for  that  matter,  I  hoped  1 


HOME   AT  LAST.  353 

never  should  see  another.  But  your  case  does  look  very  like 
what  I  remember  of  that.  So  far  as  concerns  the  technical 
symptoms,  tliose  we  find  in  the  books,  they  are  at  first  about  the 
same  as  other  fevers  of  its  class." 

"I  have  no  doubt  your  surmise  is  correct,"  answered  Servosse 
calmly.  "  I  remember  now  that  two  cases  of  the  fever,  or  what 
was  said  to  be  the  fever,  were  taken  off  the  train  at  Meridieu 
when  I  came  through." 

"Well,"  said  the  physician,  "the  best  way  is  to  treat  it  for 
that,  anyhow.  There  is  a  fair  chance,  even  with  Yellow  Jack, 
when  one  has  your  courage  and  constitutional  stamina.  We'll 
do  the  best  we  can.  Colonel,  and  I  trust  you  may  pull  through." 

The  doctor  had  completed  his  directions,  and  was  about  to 
leave,  when  his  patient  said  earnestly,  — 

"  Doctor,  you  said  just  now  that  it  was  wise  to  treat  this  as 
if  you  were  sure  of  the  worst.  I  think  that  is  true  for  me  too. 
I  ought  to  do  as  I  M'ould  if  I  were  sure  of  the  M'orst.  I  have 
not  much  to  do,  but  I  must  do  that  now.  How  long  before  this 
thing  will  be  over  —  if  —  if  you  are  correct  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  in  that  case  —  well,  the  worst  ought 
to  be  over  by,  say,  Saturday." 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor,"  said  the  patient  solemnly.  "  Now,  if 
you  will  wait  on  the  porch  a  little  while  ?  I  am  sorry  to  detain 
you;  but  I  must  do  a  little  writing,  and  wish  you  would  stay 
until  it  is  done.  Andy  will  wait  on  me,"  he  added  in  reply  to 
aquestioning  look. 

"Certainly,  Colonel,"  answered  the  doctor;  "and  you  had 
better  make  all  your  arrangements  for  —  well,  for  a  long  sick- 
ness, anyhow." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  patient  quietly. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  by  before  the  doctor  was  called  in 
again. 

"My  head  is  a  little  confused,  Doctor,"  said  the  sick  man; 
"  and  I  wish  you  would  glance  over  this  codicil  which  I  have 
added  to  my  will,  just  to  see  that  it  is  properly  expressed." 

The  doctor  read  italoud. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Servosse :  "  I  merely  wished  to  leave 


354  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

some  directions  as  to  my  burial,  and  so  forth.  I  thought  of  it 
yesterday.  I  don't  knowAvhy;  but  there  came  over  me  a  sort 
of  impression  that  I  should  not  live  long,  and  I  thought,  that,  if 
I  should  die  here,  I  would  like  to  select  my  burial-place,  and 
prescribe  the  inscription  on  my  tomb." 

"  But  this  —  you  are  quite  sure  this  is  what  you  wish  ?  "  asked 
the  doctor.     "  Your  head  is  not "  — 

"  Oh,  yes !  my  head  is  all  right,"  said  the  sick  man  with  an 
amused  smile.  "  You  need  not  have  any  fear  about  that.  I 
have  said  what  I  mean,  and  mean  what  I  say.  Then  there  is 
the  little  legacy  to  Andy  and  his  heirs ;  that  is,  on  condition 
that  he  nurse  me  through  my  last  sickness.  That  is  all  right. 
Kow,  Doctor,  I  wish  you  and  Andy  to  witness  this  will.  I  had 
always  intended  to  leave  it  as  a  holograph;  but  it  is  perhaps  as 
well  to  have  it  attested,  under  the  circumstances." 

The  will  was  signed  and  witnessed;  and  then  Servosse  handed 
to  the  doctor  a  letter  and  a  telegram,  both  directed  to  his  wife. 

"  You  will  please  send  the  telegram  as  soon  as  you  return," 
he  said.  "  Metta  will  start  back  in  a  day  or  two  if  you  do 
not." 

"  You  have  not  forbidden  her  coming  ?  "  asked  the  doctor  in 
surprise. 

"  I  tell  her  I  shall  not  be  ready  to  receive  her  before  Satur- 
day or  Sunday,"  was  the  reply. 

"But,  Colonel,  there  is  but  little  danger  —  very  little." 

"  And  they  must  not  incur  even  that,"  said  Servosse  with 
decision. 

"  Really,  Colonel,"  pleaded  the  phj'sician,  "  I  can  not  consent 
to  doing  as  you  wish.  You  know  well  enough  that  both  your 
wife  and  daughter  would  be  very  willing  to  face  any  infection 
to  serve  you." 

"  And  for  that  very  reason  must  not  be  allowed  to  come  here. 
Insensibility  will  come  before  they  could  arrive,  and  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  well  taken  care  of.  You  and  Andy  will  look  out  for 
that.  I  know  it  will  seem  cruel  to  them,  but  it  is  real  mercy 
You  must  promise  me  that  you  will  send  that,  and  nothing 


HOME  AT  LAST.  355 

« If  you  fully  desire  it,  T  can  do  nothing  less,"  responded  the 
doctor  with  hesitation. 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor.  And  this  letter,  please  keep  it,  until  — 
until  you  know  the  result,  and  then  send  or  deliver  it  to  — to 
Metta."  His  voice  choked,  and  he  seemed  about  to  lose  his  self- 
control.  "  You  will  tell  them.  Doctor,  that  it  was  my  love  which 
was  unkind.  It's  hard  —  hard.  If  I  could  only  see  their  faces 
once  more  !     Tell  them  how  I  loved  them  in  this  —  this  "  — 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  give  way !  "  cried  the  doctor,  with  a  pro- 
fessional endeavor  at  encouragement.  "  We  shall  have  you  all 
right  soon." 

"  Tell  them  —  what  I  can  not  say,  Doctor  —  if  I  should  never 
see  them  again." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  doctor,  wringing  his  hand.  "  I  will  do 
all  you  say." 

"  And,  Doctor,"  —  detaining  him  still,  —  "  my  old  friends  and 
—  and  acquaintances.  I  would  like  you  to  say  I  have  no  ill-will. 
I  was  no  doubt  mistaken;  perhaps  I  was  too  —  too  intense  in 
my  notions :  but  I  hated  no  man,  Doctor,  and  injured  no  man 
knowingly.  If  any  feel  that  I  have  wronged  them  — in  any 
manner,  perhaps  they  will  forgive  me :  I  hope  so,  at  least.  I 
wish  that  you  would  say  so  to  —  to  —  any  who  may  ask  for  me." 

"  I  am  sure,  Colonel,"  said  the  doctor  with  emotion,  "  there  is 
no  one  who  harbors  any  resentment  towards  you.  You  were 
counted  a  hard  hitter  and  a  hot  opponent;  but  no  one  ever 
thought  you  held  spite,  or  harbored  malice  against  you  person- 
ally." 

"  I  hope  not  —  I  hope  not,"  —  said  the  Fool.  "  I  would  have 
been  glad  to  see  more  of  those  I  knew ;  but  1  hope  they  will 
think  kindly  of  me  — as  kindly  as  I  do  of  them.  That's  all  I 
ask." 

With  these  words  in  his  ears,  the  doctor  rode  back  to  Yerdeu' 
ton,  and  made  report  of  his  condition.  The  little  town  had  its 
share  of  those  modern  Athenians  whose  only  business  was  to 
hear  and  to  tell  some  new  thing ;  so  that  in  an  hour  it  was  re- 
ported all  over  its  streets  that  the  owner  of  Warrington  had 
returned,  and  was  prostrate  with  the  dreaded  disease.     Little 


356  A    FOOLS  ERRAND. 

fear  was  then  entertained  of  isolated  cases  occurring  in  regions 
not  subject  to  the  ravages  of  the  plague,  which  was  then 
thought  to  be  comparatively  innocuous  beyond  certain  limits  of 
latitude,  elevation,  and  temperature. 

It  .was  wonderful  to  note,  however,  how  quickly  the  thought 
of  disease  or  death  eradicated  all  thought  of  hostility  from  the 
minds  of  those  who  had  been  the  most  avowed  enemies.  That 
most  beautiful  phase  of  the  Southern  character  was  never  more 
nobly  displayed.  All  were  ready  and  anxious  to  do  something 
for  the  relief  of  the  lonely  sufferer. 

"  Colonel  Servosse  sick  !  "  cried  Vaughn,  riding  up  to  where 
the  doctor  stood  talking  with  others.  "  I  declare,  it's  too  bad ! 
Just  come  back  from  Mexico,  too,  or  somewhere  down  that  way. 
Was  out  to  see  him  yesterday.  Hasn't  seen  his  wife  and 
daughter  in  six  months,  and  now  has  got  the  fever!  Too  bad, 
I  swear !  Look  here,  men,  we  must  go  out  and  see  him,  and 
take  care  of  him !  Just  think  of  it !  He's  there  sick,  and  all 
alone  'cept  for  the  niggers !  He  was  a  good  fellow,  Servosse 
was,  after  all,  a  good  fellow !  I  don't  believe  he  ever  had  any 
spite.  He  was  full  of  notions  and  ideas,  and  was  always 
making  everybody  a  present  of  them,  whether  they  agreed  with 
him  or  not.  Some  of  'em  wa'n't  so  bad  notions,  either,  come 
to  look  back  at  'em!  We  must  organize  a  committee  and  take 
care  of  him,  gentlemen.  'Twon't  do  to  leave  him  in  that  con- 
dition—  not  a  minute.  I'm  going  right  out  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  a  buggy  now.  Who'll  go  along  with  me,  and  take  the 
first  watch  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

Vaughn  turned,  and  exclaimed  in  surprise,  — 

"What,  is  it  you,  General  Gurney  ?  Well,  I  declare,  you 
surprised  me !  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  honored  with  your  company. 
I'm  glad  you're  going  too.  'Twill  do  Servosse  good.  —  Don't 
you  think  it  will.  Doctor?  " 

In  reply,  the  doctor  told  what  Servosse  had  said  about  his 
old  acquaintances,  and  how  he  would  not  let  him  send  for 
his  wife  and  daughter,  though  he  had  assured  him  that  the 
danger  would  not  be  great. 


HOME  AT  LAST.  357 

"So  he  was  going  to  tough  it  out  alone,  was  he?"  said 
Vaughn.  "He  can't  do  that  around  Verdenton,  if  he  is  a 
carpet-bagger.  Confound  him!  if  he  hadn't  been  so  radical, 
he  would  have  known  that.  —  Here,  you  boy!"  calling  to  a 
colored  man  who  was  listening  to  the  conversation  with  great 
interest,  —  "take  my  horse  home,  and  put  him  on  the  buggy, 
so  that  General  Gurney  and  I  can  go  out  and  see  after  Colonel 
Servosse.  D'ye  know  he'd  got  the  yellow-fever  ?  Hurry  up, 
you  rascal,  or  the  damned  Radical  will  die  before  we  get  there. 
We  oughtn't  to  go  near  him  at  all,  just  to  pay  him  for  taking 
up  with  you  niggers;  but  we  ain't  that  kind  of  folks.  We'll 
see  him  through  it,  or  give  him  a  fair  send  off,  if  he  did  try  to 
put  you  all  over  the  white  folks'  heads." 

As  usual,  Vaughn  but  "echoed  the  general  voice,  —  in  a  rough, 
loud  manner,  it  is  true,  but  with  a  sincerity  of  kindness  to 
those  suffering  affliction  which  is  a  most  noticeable  character- 
istic of  the  Southern  people.  Scarcely  one  of  those  who  had 
so  bitterly  denounced  and  recklessly  defamed  the  Fool  in 
former  days,  perhaps  not  one  of  those  who  had  voted  to 
take  his  life  by  unlawful  and  barbarous  violence,  would  have 
hesitated  to  W'atch  over  him  with  the  tenderest  care  in  sick- 
ness, to  have  shown  every  favor  to  his  family  in  consequent 
bereavement,  or  to  have  attended  his  interment  with  decorous 
and  sympathizing  solemnity  and  punctiliousness.  No  words 
can  overdraw  the  beautiful  kindness  and  tenderness  of  the 
Southern  people  in  this  respect. 

While  they  waited,  General  Gurney,  who  seemed  to  be 
affected  by  some  unusual  emotion,  after  some  further  con- 
versation with  the  physician,  said,  half  to  himself  as  he  stepped 
into  the  telegraph-office,  — 

"  I  will  do  it.     It  may  be  too  late  but  I  will  do  it." 

Then  he  wrote  a  telegram  which  read  thus :  — 

"  Melville  Gurney,  —  Bring  Mrs.  Servosse  and  Lily  with- 
out delay.     Tell  Lily  it  is  my  request. 

"Marion  Gurney." 

When   they  arrived   at   Warrington,   they  found  the   ever 


358  A   FOOL'S  ERRAND. 

ready  Burleson  already  installed  at  the  bedside ;  but  it  was 
already  too  late  for  the  Fool  to  realize  and  appreciate  the  kind- 
ness that  flowed  in  upon  him  from  all  sides.  The  neighboi-s 
who  came  and  went  received  from  him  but  dull,  vacant  glances, 
and  heard  only  the  rambling,  half-incoherent  words  of  love 
and  longing  which  his  fevered  lips  uttered  to  the  dear  ones 
Yvhom  he  imagined  at  his  bedside.  The  flowers  which  fail 
hands  culled  and  arranged  to  charm  his  eye,  the  delicacies 
which  were  sent  in  lavish  abundance  to  coax  his  palate,  wera 
unheeded  by  the  sufferer,  who  was  alone  with  his  pain  and 
his  doom.  The  faithful  Andy  was  the  only  one  he  recognized  ^ 
for  only  that  was  true  to  him  which  had  been  before  the  full 
light  of  reason  was  obscured  by  the  clouds  of  disease.  Onca 
or  twice,  it  was  true.  General  Gurney,  who  was  unremitting 
in  his  attention,  heard  his  name  muttered,  and  thought  him- 
self recognized ;  but,  instead,  he  always  found,  when  he  listened 
more  closely,  that  the  wandering  intellect  was  running  upon 
Lily  and  his  son. 

On  Wednesday  appeared  the  Verdenton  Gazette^  and  in  it 
was  the  following:  — 

"We  are  pained  to  announce  that  Colonel  Servosse,  who 
returned  to  his  home  on  Saturday  last  for  a  brief  sojourn,  is 
prostrated  with  the  fever  which  is  now  making  fearful  ravages 
in  the  adjoining  States.  Notwithstanding  the  infectious  char- 
acter of  the  disease,  scores  of  our  best  citizens  have  volun- 
teered to  attend  upon  him;  and  hundreds  have  called,  and 
otherwise  testified  their  sympathy  and  kindness.  His  family 
have  been  telegraphed  for,  but  little  hope  is  entertained  of 
their  arrival  before  his  death.  He  has  been  delirious  almost 
from  the  first,  and  his  physicians  consider  it  barely  possible 
that  he  should  recover. 

"  Colonel  Servosse  removed  to  this  county  from  the  State  of 
Michigan  immediately  after  the  war,  and  has  resided  here  con- 
stantly until  about  a  year  since.  He  was  an  active  and  able 
political  leader,  and  was  instrumental  in  molding  and  shap- 
ing legislation  under  the  Reconstruction  measures  to  a  very 
great  extent.      Naturally,  he  was  the   mark   for  very  bitter 


HOME  AT  LAST.  359 

political  attack,  and  was  for  a  time,  no  doubt,  greatly  mis- 
represented. That  he  was  a  man  of  marked  ability  is  now 
universally  admitted,  and  it  is  generally  conceded  that  he  was 
thoroughly  honest  in  the  views  which  he  entertained.  Person- 
ally, he  was  a  man  of  fine  qualities,  who  made  many  and  fast 
friends.  He  is  not  thought  to  have  been  capable  of  deliberate 
and  persistent  malice;  but  his  audacious  and  unsparing  ridi- 
cule of  the  men  and  measures  he  opposed  prevented  many  of 
his  opponents  from  appreciating  the  other  valuable  and  attrac- 
tive elements  of  his  character.  Whatever  may  have  been  their 
past  relations,  however,  our  citizens  will  be  sincerely  sorry  to 
learn  of  his  death." 

The  wife  and  daughter  read  this,  copied  into  a  Northern 
journal,  as  they  hurried  southward,  the  day  after  its  pub- 
lication. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  a  vast  concourse  gathered  be- 
neath the  oaks  of  Warrington  to  do  the  last  honors  to  its 
master.  There  were  grave,  solemn-faced  men  who  had  been 
his  friends,  and  others  who  had  been  enemies,  who  stood 
side  by  side  around  the  open  grave  under  the  noblest  of  the 
trees  which  he  had  loved.  Beyond  these  there  was  a  dark, 
sobbing  circle,  —  men,  women,  and  children,  —  who  wept  and 
groaned  as  the  clods  fell  upon  the  coffin  of  one  whom  they  had 
so  long  trusted  and  revered. 

Yet  bitterer  tears  fell  on  the  fresh,  red  mound  upon  the 
morrow;  and  then  the  sun  shone,  the  birds  sang,  the  bright 
creek  babbled  by,  and  the  dead  slept  in  peace.  Time  smiled 
grimly  as  he  traced  anew  the  unsolved  problem  which  had 
mocked  the  Fool's  heart. 


360  A  FOOVS  ERRAND. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

MOXUMENTUM. 

Grass  had  grown  above  the  grave.  A  covered  wagon 
stopped  before  the  grounds,  and  a  jean-clad  countryman,  de- 
scending therefrom,  led  a  little  boy  seriously  and  reverently 
to  the  railed  inclosure. 

"  There,  son,"  said  David  Xelson,  as  he  pointed  through  the 
railing  at  the  tombstone,  "  is  where  they  laid  away  our  Car- 
pet-Bagger.  You  remember  him,  I  reckon :  he  staid  at  our  house 
one  night,  two  or  three  years  ago,  —  Colonel  Servosse.  He 
was  too  earnest  a  man  to  have  much  comfort  here,  though. 
I  want  you  should  remember  his  grave  ;  for  he  was  a  powerful 
good  friend  to  your  father,  and  the  common  people  like  him. 
He  come  from  the  North  right  after  the  war,  an'  went  in  with 
us  Union  men  and  the  niggers  to  try  and  make  this  a  free 
country  accordin'  to  Northern  notions.  It  was  a  grand  idee ; 
but  there  wa'n't  material  enough  to  build  of,  on  hand  here  at 
that  time.  There  was  a  good  foundation  laid,  and  some  time 
it  may  be  finished  off;  but  not  in  my  day,  son, — not  in  my 
day.  Colonel  Servosse  always  felt  as  if  somebody  had  made 
a  mess  of  it,  and  said  the  fault  wasn't  half  of  it  with  them 
it  was  laid  on,  here  at  the  South,  but  was  mainly  with  the 
master  workmen  at  the  North,  who  would  insist  on  the  tale  of 
bricks  without  furnishin'  any  straw.  The  failure  of  what  we 
called  Reconstruction  hurt  him  mighty  bad,  an',  to  my  mind, 
bed  more  ter  du  with  takin'  him  off  than  the  fever.  That's 
why  he  hed  that  line  put  on  his  tombstone.  What  is  it  V  Let 
me  git  out  my  glasses,  child,  and  I'll  read  it  for  ye  :  — 

'  lie  followed  .the  counsel  of  the  Wise, 
And  became  a  Fool  thereby.^ 

What  does  it  mean?     I'm  not  jest  sure  that  I  rightly  know, 


MONUMENTUM. 


861 


son ;  but  it  was  one  of  his  notions  that  he'd  been  fooled,  along 
with  the  rest  of  us,  by  tryin'  to  work  up  to  the  marks  of  men 
that  only  half-knew  what  sort  of  a  job  they  were  layin'  out. 
lie  was  a  good  man,  according  to  my  notion,  and  an  earnest 
one;  but  —  somehow  it  seemed  as  if  his  ideas  wa'n't  calkilated 
for  this  meridian.  It  mout  hev  been  better  for  us,  in  the  end, 
if  they  hed  been." 


HAEEIET    BEECHER    STOWE'S 


MY    WIFE    AND    I: 

Or,   Harry    Henderson's    History.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.    12mo. 
Cloth,  f  1.50.    (Sixtieth  thousand.) 

*'  Always  bright,  piquant,  and  entertaining,  with  an  occasional  touch  of  ten- 
derness, strong  because  subtle,  keen  in  sarcasm,  full  of  womanly  logic  directed 
against  unwomanlj^  tendencies."  —  Boston  Journal. 

"  A  capital  story,  in  which  fashionable  follies  are  shown  up,  and  fast  young 
ladies  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting,  and  the  value  of  true  worth 
exhibited." —  Portland  Argus. 


WE    AND     OUR    NEIGHBOSS: 

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and  vim  to  give  the  romance  edge ;  and  throughout  there  are  delicious  sketches 
of  scenes,  with  bits  of  dry  humor  peculiar  to  her  writings."  —  Pittsburgh  {Penn.) 
Commercial. 


POGANUC    PEOPLE: 

Their  Loves  and  Lives.  (Her  Latest  Novel.)  Illustrated.  12mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50.  In  the  style  of  early  New-England  Scene  and 
Character  in  which  Mrs.  Stowe  is  so  inimitable.  As  "  Oldtown 
Folks  "  was  said  to  be  founded  on  Dr.  Stowe's  childhood  memo- 
ries, so  this  is  drawn  from  some  of  the  author's  own  reminis- 
cences, and  has  all  the  brightness  of  genuine  portraiture. 

"It  is  long  since  we  have  had  a  story  from  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  which  we 
have  so  thoroughly  enjoyed.  As  the  Americans  say,  it  is  '  good  all  round.' "  — 
London  Times. 

"A  fertile,  ingenious,  and  rarely  gifted  writer  of  the  purely  American  type, 
doing  for  the  traditions  of  New  England  and  its  salient  social  features  the  same 
sort  of  service  that  Scott  rendered  to  the  Scotch  and  the  history  and  scenery  of 
his  native  land,  that  Dickens  performed  for  London  and  its  lights  and  shadows, 
its  chronic  abuses  of  every  sort,  —  the  same  service  that  Victor  Hugo  has  done 
for  Paris  in  all  its  social  strata.  Mrs.  Stowe  still  keeps  the  field,  and  her  harvests 
ever  grow.    She  works  a  vein  of  increasing  luster." —  Titusville  {Penn.)  Herald. 


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1 


MEMORIAL  EDITION  —  REVISED  AND   ENLARGED. 


WILLIAM    CULLEN   BEYANT'S 
Family   Library  of  Poetry  and  Song, 

Giving  the  choicest  productions  of  the  best  Poets,  English,  Scotch, 
Irish,  and  American,  witli  translations  from  the  German, 
French,  Spanish,  Italian,  Latin,  Greek,  Chinese,  and  Persian 
Authors  of  note,  and  including  all  the  best  and  latest  of  Bryant's 
own  Poems;  with  an  Introductory  Treatise  by  Mr.  Bryant  on 
"  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  the  English  Language,"  in  which  he 
reviews  every  noted  Poet  from  the  fourteenth  century  down  to 
the  present  age;  including  also  a  New  Biography  of  Bryant,  pre- 
pared especially  for  this  work  by  his  friend  Gen.  James  Grant 
Wilson.  The  masterpieces  of  five  hundred  authors  in  one 
handsome  large  octavo  volume  of  about  900  pages,  on  fine  paper, 
embellished  with  a  new  steel  portrait  of  Mr.  Bryant,  twenty  full- 
page  engravings  illustrative  of  poems  in  the  work,  and  twenty- 
seven  autographic  facsimiles  of  the  handwriting  of  celebrated 
Poets,  including  a  manuscript  poem  of  three  pages  by  Mr. 
Bryant,  copied  out  with  his  ow^n  hand  for  this  work. 


OPINIONS    OF    THE   PBESS. 


"A  delightful  companion  —  a  store- 
Louse  of  sweets."  —  Harper'^  Weekly 
(edited  by  Geo.  Wm.  Curtis). 

"  The  cream  of  all  English  poetry." — 
Christian  Union  (edited  by  Heury 
Ward  Beecher) . 

"No  other  selection  we  know  of  is  as 
varied  and  complete  as  this."  —  Albany 
Jiveniny  Journal. 

"A  perfect  surprise.  Nothing  has 
ever  approached  it  in  completeness." — 
New-  York.  Evening  Mail. 

"  It  is  a  garland  of  sweet  and  beauti- 
ful flowers  culled  from  the  whole  garden 
of  English  poetry."  —  Troy  {N.  Y.) 
Daily  Whig. 

"  Comes  from  one  who  knows  from 
experience  the  worth  of  such  a  book  in 
the  household."  —  y^/tieM  and  Banner 
(.Maustield,  O.). 


"  We  know  of  no  similar  collection 
in  the  EngUsh  language,  Avhich,  in  copi- 
ousness and  lelicity  of  selection  and 
arrangement,  can  at  all  compare  with 
it."  —  New-  York  Times. 

"We  are  introduced  to  this  poet's 
gallery  by  AVilliam  CuUen  Bryant,  in 
an  essay  which  is  a  masterpiece  of 
criticism  upon  poetry  in  general."  — 
Chicago  Everting  Journal. 
-  "  The  introduction  to  the  book  is 
written  with  all  the  perspicuity  and 
elegance  which  mark  the  prose  writings 
of  our  illustrious  bard."  —  Syracuse 
Standard. 

"  None  that  we  have  seen  has  been 
equal  to  this  in  the  variety  and  com- 
pleteness of  its  contents,  and  the  gen- 
eral excellence  of  its  mechanical  execu- 
tion." —  Journal  of  Education. 


ELEGANTLY  BOUND  IN  THE  FOLLOWING  STYLES: 

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JSTEW  LIFE  I]Sr  ]^EW  LAISTDS. 


CAMP     AND     CABIN: 

Sketches  of  Life  and  Travel  in  the  West.    By  Rossiter  W.  Ray- 
mond, late  United  States   Commissioner  of  Mining  Statistics, 
editor  Engineering  and  Mining  Journal,  author  "  Mines  of  the 
West,"  ""Silver  and  Gold,"  &c.    "Little  Classic "  style.    Red 
edges,  81.00. 
•'  In  this  very  pretty  little  volume  are  seen  the  evident  results  of  Dr.  Raymond's 
accurate  observation,  varied  knowledge,  and  quick  intelligence ;  while  his  fidelity 
to  fact  does  not  interfere  with  his  felicity  of  style.     His  sketches  of  life  in  Califor- 
nia and  Nevada  are  capital  stories,  alive  with  fun,  full  of  incidental  suggestion 
and  information  about  the  main  business  of  life  out  there,  and  fairly  permeated 
w-ith  the  flavor  of  the  kind  of  existence  that  prevails  among  the  mining  camps 
and  cabins ;  while  the  tender  touches  of  pathos  show  that  he  has  not  studied  the 
bright  side  of  life  alone,  and  often  beguile  the  reader  of  a  sudden  tear.    His 
sketches  of  travel  amid  the  wonders  of  the  Yellowstone  country,  the  peaks  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  the  ice-caves  of  Washington  Territory,  are  no  less 
interesting,  and  are  enlivened  by  such  a  pleasant  commingling  of  wit,  wisdom, 
and  poetry,  as  makes  the  reader  envious  of  the  companions  of  this  delightful 
traveler." 


BRAVE     HEARTS. 

An   American   Novel.     By  Robertson   Gray  (R.  W.  Raymond). 

Illustrations   by  Dakley,    Stephens,  Beard,   and   Kendrick. 

12mo.     Cloth,  ;$1.00. 

"  A  successful  experiment.    It  is  a  tale  of  two  regions, — alternations  between 

the  quiet  scenes  of  Xew  England  and  the  rough,  boisterous,  and  dangerous  life 

of  an  extempore  Californian." —  Philadelphia  Evening  Herald. 

"  A  really  good  American  rovel.  .  .  .  The  purpose  of  the  book  is  indicated 
by  its  title.  It  is  a  representation  of  courage  in  various  forms  of  individual 
character."  —  Boston  Globe. 


A    BOOK    EOE    MOTHEES. 


MATERNITY. 

A  Popular  Treatise  for  Wives  and  Mothers.  Seventh  edition.  By 
TuLLio  S.  Verdi,  A.M.,  M.D.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 

A  monitor  to  young  wives,  a  guide  to  young  mothers,  and  an  assistant  to  the 
famil}'  physician.  It  deals  skillfully,  sensibly,  and  delicately  with  the  perplexi- 
ties of  married  life,  treating  of  the  needs,  dangers,  and  alleviations  of  the  duties 
of  maternity,  and  giving  extended  detailed  instructions  for  the  care  and  medical 
treatment  of  infants  and  children. 

"This  book  merits  an  extensive  circulation." —  United-States  Medical  and 
Surgical  Jownal  {Chicago). 

"  There  are  few  intelligent  mothers  who  will  not  be  benefited  by  reading,  and 
keeping  by  them  for  frequent  counsel,  a  volume  so  rich  in  valuable  suggestions. 
With  its  tables,  prescriptions,  and  indexes  at  the  end,  this  book  ought  to  do 
much  good."  —  Hearth  and  Home. 


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GOOD    AMEEICA]^    ]SrOYELS. 

BY   ALBION  W.  TOUBGEE. 


FIGS     AND     THISTLES: 

A  Western  Story.    12mo.     Cloth,  Sl.OO. 

••  A  keenly  characteristic  American  novel,  full  of  the  excitement  of  conflict 
among  strong  characters."—  Danbury  Kews. 

"  A  new  and  stirring  novel  of  American  life,  .  .  .  This  book  can  not  fail  to 
sustain  and  extend  the  author's  name  as  a  popular  writer  of  fiction."  —  Colum- 
bus Sunday  Morning  Kews. 

'•  Although  full  of  lively  incident,  and  having  a  dramatic,  skillfully  constructed 
plot,  the  strength  of  the  book  mainly  lies  in  the  graphic  pictures,  full  of  vitality 
and  humor,  which  it  contains  of  life  and  character  in  the  great  Buckeye  State. 
Judge  Tourgee  has  shown  himself  in  his  previous  stories  an  exceedingly  clever 
delineator  of  men  and  manners  ;  but  we  are  inclined  to  think  that '  Figs  and  This- 
tles '  is  the  best  book  which  he  has  yet  given  to  the  public,"  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 

"  The  writer  has  proved  himself  a  bold  and  vivid  delineator  of  the  possibilities 
and  opportunities  of  Western  life  and  of  its  dramatic  events.  The  story  is  simple, 
but  ingenious  in  plot,  populous  with  characters,  and  crowded  with  incident.  It 
is  rich  in  the  hearty  humor  of  the  West,  and  full  of  the  attractive  contrast  of 
hght  and  shade  in  the  depiction  of  scenes  of  the  village  and  the  fireside."  — 
Toledo  (0.)  Journal. 

TOINETTE: 

A  Tale  of  the  South.    A  graphic  depiction  of  the  transition  state  of 

Southern  slaveholding  society  during  and  since  the  war  of  the 

rebellion.    Nevj  edition  with  new  j)reface,  discussing  the  great 

unsolved  social  problem,  now  confronting  the    South.    12mo. 

Cloth,  Sl.OO. 

"  Really  a  story  of  power.  .  .  .  The  peculiarities  of  plantation  life,  thought, 

and  speech,  are  drawn  by  one  who  knows  whereof  he  writes." — New-Eavev. 

Palladium. 

"A  picturesque,  vivid,  passionate  story  of  the  great  civil  war  and  emancipa- 
tion." —  Cincinnati  Times. 


AJS  EIvTGLISH   CLASSIC. 


LIFE   AND   TIMES   OF   SIR  PHILIP   SIDNEY. 

By  S.  M.  Davis,    Illustrated  with  three    Steel   Plates:    Portrait  of 
Sidney;  View  of  Penshurst  Castle;  Facsimile  of  Sidney's  Manu- 
script.   12mo,     Cloth,  beveled,  stamped  in  ink  and  gold,  with 
Sidney's  Coat  of  Arms,  S1.50. 
"  A  book  well  deserving  the  beautiful  printing  and  binding  into  which  the 
Fords  have  put  it."  —  Xeic-^York  Evening  Mail. 

"There  are  few  more  attractive  figures  in  the  glorious  companj'^  of  English 
heroes  than  Sidney,  the  soldier,  courtier,  scholar,  —  the  accepted  type  of  an 
English  gentleman,  ,  .  .  yet,  except  in  encyclopedias  and  kindred  works,  there 
is  scarcely  any  satisfactory  memoir  of  him ;  and  the  author  of  this  book  has  done 
a  good  service."  —  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


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4 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
1075 


